


Suffer the Children

by AccursedSpatula



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Self-Harm, Sibling Incest, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 123,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula/pseuds/AccursedSpatula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all these years, Loki realized, he was still nothing more than a frightened little boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged for Avengers due to chapter 15, but the story is largely Thor-centric.
> 
> Through the courtesy and hard work of user bunnxxx, this story is now available in Vietnamese! Translation can be found here: http://littlebun289.wordpress.com/2014/03/31/trans-thor-fanfiction-suffer-the-children-thorki/

Loki had always loved watching his brother spar.

Even in their younger days, he had observed his older brother with an adoration so fierce it was nearly idolization as Thor took up the challenge of whatever weapon was handed to him, moving with the grace and assuredness that came with years of practice to best his opponent. As a small child, standing at the edge of the grounds, he had dreamed of the day when he too would pick up the dummy weapons and join the fights at his brother’s side.

But the years had not favored that fantasy.

Loki had grown into a tall, lanky form, lacking the hardiness and power that his brother possessed. He was cunning, yes, infinitely more so than his somewhat thickheaded sibling, but in Loki’s opinion it was a poor substitute for his lack of physical ability. Intelligence, he reasoned, was something one could expound on through experience. What Thor had was something else entirely.

He envied Thor for it, yet admired him in the same measure. All too often he’d wished that he possessed that prowess, that confidence in battle, but it was rewarding in its own way to watch his brother strike down a foe with utter ease.

Striking down foes was exactly what Thor was doing today, which was why Loki was perched at the edge of the grounds, under the shade of a scrappy birch tree. He preferred to watch from a distance, far enough away to be out of sight and mind, but close enough to still see the action.

The sparring was rather casual today, the group consisting of Thor, his steady companions, and a few Einherjar, the fallen warriors Odin kept in his hall. Loki had only been invited to practice with them on one occasion, and his subsequent poor performance ensured that it would be the only invite he would ever receive. That didn’t stop him from watching, however, and he had learned much from just viewing the fights, although he doubted he would ever put any of that knowledge to use.

His brother’s weapon of choice for today happened to be a small shield and a spear, and he was doing rather well, although he had a tendency to leave his right side open. It wasn’t hampering him as much as it should have, because few opponents chose to capitalize on it between Thor’s vicious blows.

Loki knew his brother was well aware of his presence here, and Thor had even glanced over a few times, smiling once at his forlorn sibling. Loki had returned a twitch of a grin.

Thor knew better than to acknowledge his brother out here. Loki’s brief trials in the ring had started and ended poorly. At sixteen, like all Aesir boys, he was finally permitted to take up a sword and shield (or whatever weapons he preferred), as was the custom. Loki had lasted one afternoon, getting battered about, but rising to his feet each time with more and more determination. It wasn’t enough to impress his father, however, who had him quietly pulled from training, formally stating that Loki would strengthen his other talents.

It was something Loki had never forgiven their father for.

The rounds were finishing up now, the warriors packing up their equipment and clearing out of the ring. Loki remained under his tree, absentmindedly peeling off some of the papery bark. It crinkled and cracked in his hand before coming free, and he twisted it in his fingers, looking at the soft contrast of white bark on his pale skin.

His physique had always been delicate—milk-white flesh, fine bones, wide eyes. His brother was hardy, with tan skin and sandy hair and clear, enticing blue eyes. Loki felt like a sickly runt next to him, and he was sure that opinion was the consensus amidst the population. Thor was the golden boy, destined to be king and to live up to his father’s name. Loki was the frail prince, the one that was quietly shushed up in the palace, rarely seen nor heard for fear of the shame he would bring to his house.

The scrap of bark fluttered in his hand with the coming breeze, and he squeezed it, softly, ensuring that it did not fly away. Most of the warriors were gone now, his brother leaving with the last of the Einherjar and Sif. Loki saw them go, knowing that he should wait until they were past the gates and back within the palace before he even thought about leaving his perch.

He saw his brother draw close to Sif, putting his thick arm around her narrow, graceful shoulders. Jealousy fluttered through him at the sight. He wanted to be Sif, wanted to be like her, like Hogun and Fandral and the others—he wanted to be strong and powerful and respected more than anything.

He wanted to be like Thor.

Perhaps, then, if he were more like his brother—more fearsome, radiant and confident—he would be worthy of his brother’s affections.

An awful sense of shame filled him, like a thick, congealed venom in his veins, one that settled in the pit of his stomach and burned there. His throat felt swollen, his skin on fire, his chest tight and achy, all feelings he knew he deserved. He shouldn’t want such things from his _brother._ It was unnatural, and wrong, oh so very wrong, and Loki knew he ought to be more than just ashamed for what he felt.

He could hear that tiny nagging voice in his head, the one that usually bid him to cause mild havoc around the palace, reminding him that while he had been raised as Thor’s brother, they shared no blood relation between them. Surely that counted for something, it whispered, but that fact was never reassuring.

Loki was not Aesir. He knew this. He would never be as shining and noble as Thor. It wasn’t in his blood.

His hand clenched around the bark, the scrap crackling and crunching with a satisfying string of pops, and he summoned forth a small flame, singeing the piece to ashes in seconds. He continued to dig his nails into his palm until the last vestiges of heat from the orange flames had long passed, and only the gray, charred ashes remained. At last he unfurled his fist, dusting off the residual mess into the grass.

He rose to his feet, trudging off to follow his brother. The walk was quick, so long as Loki kept himself to his thoughts and didn’t focus on his steps, only vaguely aware enough of the outside world to keep himself from stumbling.

As he crossed the field, his eyes caught sight of something left behind, lying inconspicuously off to his left, at the edge of the ring. He frowned, but decided to approach it anyway, mostly out of curiosity.

It was a wooden practice sword, the edges dulled enough to prevent serious injury, but still sharp enough to cause a vicious sting when the blade struck flesh. Loki knelt and grasped the handle, the wood smooth to the touch from years of wear. His hands were soft, lacking the calluses warriors developed from years of dedicated practice, and the sword felt heavy and foreign in his hands.

_“Father, please!” Loki’s voice sounds unfamiliar to himself, as if he’s not a participant in this conversation, merely an outside observer looking in. His mind is instead focused on the pain lancing through his left arm, which hangs limp at his side, partially cradled by his free hand. His father had twisted it moments before, the action excruciating, and although he senses that it isn’t broken, it hurts far too much to move._

_He shuts his eye for a second as blood runs into it, quickly reaching up to wipe it away, but for that he is met with another blow. His body convulses into violent sobs, born of pure agony, and his thoughts concentrate on the pain and not his father’s words._

_“How many times have I told you?”_

_“I know, Father, I know!” Loki’s crying impedes his speech, but he struggles to do his best. It’s not enough to stop his father’s next onslaught, and Loki feels the bite of another slap, of a bruise blossoming in his cheek and a cut being gouged into it from his gauntlet. In another moment, he is knocked onto his knees, struggling for balance._

_Odin’s strikes abruptly cease and Loki is left half-hunched, trying to shield his face with his good arm. He can hear his father panting, can see his fingers curling and uncurling from the corner of his eye, and he braces, waiting for a second flurry. But nothing comes._

_Instead, Odin crouches down and shakily brushes Loki’s hair out of his face. There is no apology, no spoken contract, but Odin’s eyes express regret for a brief second, and Loki’s whole body tenses._

_“I shouldn’t have struck you,” he says, nudging Loki’s chin up with a finger, delicately tracing his jaw line. Loki suddenly feels uneasy, and he wishes that his father would continue hitting him, degrading him, calling him names—anything but this. “But you know why I did it?”_

_Loki concentrates on the rapid beating of his heart for a long minute before answering. The sensation of the rough pad of his father’s finger as it skims over his chin sickens him. “Yes, Father.”_

_“Even though you look like us, you aren’t one of us.” Odin’s hand skims up to Loki’s cheekbone, looping a strand of hair tenderly behind his ear._

_“I know, Father.” Loki tries not to shudder._

_“But look at you,” he whispered, digits now roaming down over the boy’s neck, causing a pang of dread to germinate in Loki’s stomach. “So small. So delicate. So frail. Yet so beautiful.”_

_Tears spring up in Loki’s eyes, but he fights them. To cry now would only warrant a worse punishment, would only serve to drag out this torture longer. Loki knows that he is not Aesir, not a beautiful, radiant_ god _like his brother, and that this is why he can be treated in such a manner._

_“Get on the bed,” Odin whispers, and Loki does as he is told._

Loki’s head was spinning by the time he dragged himself from his memories. He looked down bitterly at the sword before tossing it aside with blatant animosity. His father had shied him away from such things, poisoned him against them forever, and Loki knew that at this point in his life there was no changing such a thing.

What had been done was done.

\---

In Thor’s opinion, Loki was a halfway decent shot.

His brother tossed another knife, with a restrained grimace on his face, watching to make sure his throw was true for a split second before following with a second. It was dark, making sight difficult, yet both knives landed with a solid, satisfying _thump_ into the wooden dummy Loki had been aiming at, and Thor could see from his spot on the sideline that they had buried deep enough to stick. On a man, that could be fatal, provided Loki hit his target in the chest and not a limb.

If his brother had been allowed and encouraged to, there was no doubt in Thor’s mind that he would have become a competent, capable archer. Perhaps not the best, but certainly able to hold his own. But Loki had been guided away from such a direction, pushed into magic and the arts of illusion, into subjects viewed by all of Asgard as feminine.

Loki had fought back, however, in his own secret, sly way. Shortly after Loki was forbidden from weaponry, Thor had caught him stealing throwing knives from one of the armories, Loki rushing back to his room with four of them poorly concealed in his clothing. He’d run smack into Thor, too concerned with the possibility that someone was following him to look directly _in front_ of him, and two of the knives had clattered to the floor.

His younger brother had looked up with wide, beseeching eyes, silently begging his brother _not to tell,_ and Thor had simply bent down and retrieved the two fallen knives, handing them to Loki.

“Be careful,” was all he had said, punctuated by an understanding smile.

Three weeks later, Thor commissioned a set of twelve knives from his favorite blacksmith. He got them just in time for Loki’s birthday, leaving them in an unmarked wooden box on his brother’s bed.

Loki had carried them ever since.

He had made good use of them, Thor mused, watching as Loki tossed another at the wooden dummy. This one veered slightly left, coming to rest in the dirt past his target. Thor snorted in laughter as Loki sighed in frustration, abruptly turning his head toward his brother.

“It’s not as easy as it looks,” he quipped. “It’s dark out here, and I’m tired—”

“I know, Brother, I know,” Thor reassured. He dislodged himself from the wall he had been leaning on and walked out onto the field, trying to pick out the shape of the knife, or even the glint of the blade, on the dirt.

Loki was carefully tugging out the two in the dummy, watching Thor skeptically as his brother searched for the missing knife. Often times, after fights, Loki would hold up the whole group until he found all twelve of his knives, even if it meant close to an hour of searching corpses and the surrounding landscape. The fact that he treasured them so meant something dear to Thor, and he always silenced the complaints from the group whenever Loki wished to hunt for his missing weaponry.

Something glinted a bit off the dummy’s left, and Thor meandered to that spot, finding the knife resting in the dirt there. He picked it up, turning the lightweight metal over in his hands, noting every nick, every scratch from usage that had appeared despite Loki’s dedication to caring for these beloved weapons, until he felt Loki’s presence behind him.

“Here,” he said, handing it to his brother, who promptly slid it into its spot in his leather holster.

“Thank you.”

Loki moved away, now attempting to pick up and carry the dummy singlehandedly. Thor watched, bemused, as his brother struggled with it. However swift, however lithe Loki was, he lacked pure strength, and it was a wonder that he had gotten the dummy out into the training yard in the first place.

“Let me,” Thor said, picking it up with ease. He caught the fleeting look of rejection in Loki’s eyes, and he realized, guiltily, that he was just as culpable as their father for shunning Loki from any sort of warrior’s task.

Thor slowed his steps, Loki stopping and giving him a questioning look out of the corner of his eye. “Here, grab half of it,” Thor said, feigning like he needed help. He knew Loki could see through the lie, and he comprehended that Loki was also aware that Thor knew Loki recognized the untruth.

Loki reluctantly scampered around to grab the upper half of the dummy, doing his best to mask the strain carrying it put on him. Together they hauled the thing to the edge of the ring, putting it back in its rightful spot among the others.

No one would ever be the wiser.

Loki, ever vain, dusted himself off and smoothed out his clothing. Thor could care less about his own state, but he found his brother’s devotion to cleanliness amusing, endearingly so. Once Loki had primped and preened back to an acceptable state, he started back toward the doors, waiting for his brother to follow him.

Thor caught up in several great strides, Loki glancing over his shoulder to confirm his presence. Thor smiled (“You look like a dolt when you grin like that,” Loki had told him once), and Loki weakly returned a smirk.

As they walked back into the palace together, Thor watched Loki swiftly stride inside, muttering some incantation to conceal them both from any eyes they might encounter. Seeing his brother, cunning, adept Loki, Loki who was leagues smarter than Thor would ever be, gave Thor a strange sense of pride. He was glad Loki was his brother—Loki was the perfect complement to him, and he wondered just how much of that respect Loki was genuinely aware of. He was flattered when Loki had come to him, asking him to help with these midnight training sessions, because it meant that Loki, in turn, had faith and some kind of confidence in Thor’s physical abilities (his joking doubt for his brother’s intellect he made all too well known, even though Thor was aware that it was in jest).

They started the walk through the halls back to Thor’s room, each left to their own thoughts. The silence bothered Thor; he was accustomed to rowdy, raucous halls and belligerent, brash men, not the reserved, studious silence his brother spent most of his day in.

“You’re getting rather good,” Thor blurted out without warning.

Loki cocked a brow in disbelief. “Thank you,” he replied nonetheless.

“I…would you like a new set?”

“Of knives?” he asked, quizzical. “These are fine.”

“They’re all scratched up. And you need to get them sharpened, at the very least.”

Loki stopped him with a hand at Thor’s shoulder. “No one’s supposed to even really know that I have these. I trust you and your friends, but not some…some random blacksmith.”

“So give them to me. I’ll have it done.”

Loki pursed his lips. Thor did his best to appear innocent and innocuous, trying to appeal to Loki’s ethos, even though he knew his brother instantly saw through the ploy.

“All right.”

Thor lit up. “So do you have any thoughts as to the shape of the new ones?”

“I thought we were just getting these sharpened,” Loki said, beginning to walk again, Thor trotting after him like an eager puppy.

He snorted. “Those are scuffed and worn beyond belief. You deserve a new set, Loki.”

Loki turned to face him, standing stock still for a moment, a wistful, almost longing gaze on his face. “You amuse me, brother,” he said, meeting Thor’s eye for a long second, before looking away, mildly distressed.

Thor didn’t push the point. Instead, he walked with Loki back to his room, standing in the doorway and watching his brother return down the hall. Loki was so strong, so confident, but not on the battlefield, and it pained Thor to be the only one to see his brother’s true prowess. Loki had so much _potential,_ why had it all been squandered? But Thor knew it was not his place to question his father’s wishes—Odin was wise, he was prophetic, and he was aided by fine minds. Munin and Hugin, Odin’s fat, black, faithful ravens, served as constant reminders of that, as well as his missing eye, traded for mead from Mimir’s well of knowledge.

There was a reason his father did everything, and for this, too, there must have been a reason.

\---

Loki’s place was at the far end of the table.

Odin sat at the head of the table, flanked by Frigga and, of course, Thor. The Warrior’s Three and Thor’s beloved Sif sat in a row beside Thor, like baby ducklings following their mother. Next to Frigga were Tyr, Freyr, Freja and Hermod, and at the very end, hunched over and too small for his grand chair, sat Loki.

In his younger days, he had sat beside Thor. But the years had driven them farther and farther apart, as Thor made new friends, ones that Loki quickly alienated. His pranks were motivated out of jealousy, out of a desire to drive a wedge between Thor and his closest comrades. It was petty and foolish, a trait he should have abandoned in his youth, but Loki had held onto his envy, letting it fester and percolate in a dark corner of his mind.

His trickery did not come without remorse, however. A quick glance at Sif, with her dark hair framing her round face, gave him a stab of regret every time. He remembered her soft, golden locks, the way they had glinted in the sunlight, a perfect complement to his brother. And he remembered how dull and insipid they had looked lying on the pillow next to her, the strands and locks separated from her scalp while she slept.

His brother’s anger at that had made Loki genuinely fear for his life.

But things had been resolved, old wounds healed and forgotten, and Loki still sat at their table, welcome and shunned in the same breath. Sif was chatting loudly, and Loki wondered if she still did miss her blonde hair.

To distract himself, he poked the food on his plate around. None of it was appealing to him, and he knew it whatever morsels lay before him were essentially destined to be wasted. He ate sparingly during mealtimes, just enough to sate his hunger and no more.

His mother and father were engaged in a playful flirtation, and she slapped him lightly on the arm as he leaned forward, licking an excess bit of something from his finger.

Loki’s eyes fuzzed over as something flooded forth in his mind, something long buried, a skeleton that he was not meant to dig up.

_His limbs feel shaky and weak, his mind still hazy, but he was vaguely aware of his father’s hand resting on his bare inner thigh, tracing a small circle toward where it met his hip. Loki is still dazed, still confused at what has just happened, mystified by his own biology. His father had touched and teased and pleasured him, while Loki squirmed and moaned in his arms, feeling shameful and dirty and yet wanting more, until a rush of ecstasy hit him, his body convulsing helplessly._

_Odin, however, seems amused by what has just transpired, a small grin plastered on his face. He wipes the inside of Loki’s leg, the white, viscous fluid forming tiny pearls on his father’s finger. He holds it up, Loki staring at it blankly for a long second, blinking a few times. Odin shifts his grip on the boy, holding him around the waist, Loki’s back pressed to his chest and his legs spread out before him._

_“Open your mouth,” he whispers into his ear. Loki parts his lips, humiliated, and licks his father’s finger clean. The taste is bitter and sharp, and he wants to recoil, but he fights to keep a straight face. His father wipes up a bit more, and Loki repeats the gesture, until Odin is satisfied._

_His father lets him go, Loki scrambling to his feet, rushing to find his clothing. He puts it back on in shambles, smoothing out his hair, trying to alleviate the level of debauchery he has been reduced to. He doesn’t want to linger, however, so his motions are hurried and somewhat haphazard. Odin watches him leave the room, that half-smile still present on his lips._

_Loki runs as fast as his feet will carry him through the halls, his boots squeaking on the floor as he rounds some corners. Thankfully, at this late of an hour no one but the guards are out, and most are stationed far from his chambers. Loki locks his eyes on the floor and avoids eye contact with the guard he does encounter, however, too ashamed to meet the gaze of a man that society considers far beneath him._

_Once he is safely inside his room, behind the thick gold doors, Loki strips out of his clothing. He races to his bath chamber and forces two fingers down his throat, keeping them there until he retches up everything his father made him swallow, not caring about the acrid taste. All he wants is to be free of every last vestige of their encounter, and as soon as he is finished heaving, he scrubs his skin so hard it bleeds in parts._

_Despite the blood, despite the purging, Loki knows he will never be clean._

The table erupted in laughter as his brother made some kind of remark, his bellowing chuckle deeper and more robust than anyone else’s, thankfully loud enough to pull Loki from his thoughts. He hadn’t heard what he had said, and he sighed, softly, waiting for the ruckus to die down, timidly folding his hands in his lap.

When some semblance of order had returned to the hall a few minutes later, Loki sheepishly spoke up. “May I be excused?” he asked, his eyes darting from Thor to his father to Frigga.

He saw the stern denial in Odin’s eyes, and knew that he would be turned down before his father even spoke. The prospect of being forced to sit at this table, confronted with the constant reminder of the dark trials of his youth, was too daunting for Loki to comprehend. Frigga, to her credit, anticipated Odin’s reaction as well, and held her hand up as Odin opened his mouth.

“Let him go,” she said, softly. Thor idly played with a piece of his hair, waiting for the conversation to resume.

She smiled warmly at Loki, who nodded politely, and then rose, pushing his chair in behind him. He walked casually to the edge of the hall, speeding up as he rounded the doorway, his long legs carrying him swiftly to the same room in the palace that he had retreated to all those years ago.

In a flash, he was on the floor of his bath chamber, the sour taste of vomit in his mouth and his saliva still coating his fingers. Shakily, he dragged himself to the corner, sitting with his back flush to it, and drew his knees to his chest.

After all these years, Loki realized, he was still nothing more than a frightened little boy.


	2. Chapter 2

The memories that dinner evoked had been more devastating than Loki anticipated.

He spent the next few days quietly keeping to himself, spending his hours either in his room or out in a secluded part of the palace gardens, both places where no one would come to mock or goad him. Loki was smarter than any of Thor’s oafish friends, and his retribution tactics often proved more than effective against them, giving Loki a rather ruthless reputation, one which he felt he hadn’t earned.

But he was still mildly proud of it.

No one really took note of his absence. Secluding himself was something Loki frequently did, either when he was plotting like a madman or simply wished to avoid his family, and this time was no different. The daily goings-on of the palace drifted in, either in snippets of conversation from passers-by or in the brief conversations Loki had when he dared to venture out.

He spent his days tirelessly working over any and every spell he could think of and his nights tossing and turning, thrashing about beneath his covers. Sleep, for the most part, cruelly eluded him, and Loki had taken to drinking to tire out his mind enough to grant him some respite.

Thor went out hunting with his companions on the fifth day of Loki’s self-imposed isolation, off to kill boars or some other ungainly large creature in a rather savage manner. It was an activity that Loki did not enjoy, but the fact that he had been denied an invite, even as a formality, stung like an open wound.

And so he locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, pretending to read, when in reality, he stared at the same page over and over and tried to ignore the slight he had received. It nagged at him, chewed at the fringes of his consciousness like a million small ants, until he finally gave up the ruse and shut the book, retreating to his bed.

He lay there, lethargic, until the setting sun and his growling stomach drove him from his velvet covers and out into the hall. He crept through the house like a rat, not attempting to be stealthy, but just naturally light of foot, until he found himself at the dining hall, now empty. Dinner had been eaten a few hours before, and the table had been cleared and reset, ready for the next morning. A few more steps brought him to the kitchen, where he quickly pilfered whatever alcohol he could find, settling for a bottle of wine and one of mead, along with a lone golden apple, courtesy of Idunn.

Items in hand, he walked back to his room, a bit more brazen now that he knew no one was out and about. He slipped soundlessly back through his doors, shutting them behind him, and was seated out on his balcony in minutes, the wine and mead uncorked, the apple set aside for later.

Loki seldom drank himself into a stupor, but being left alone to the horrors that the recesses of his mind housed had forced him to find something to dull the constant paranoia. The alcohol slowed everything about him down, his intellect especially, and with his mind ceasing to race, he was granted some much-needed respite.

The wine was a third gone when Loki heard footsteps behind him. Distinct, deliberate and punctual, Loki knew that they belonged to his brother even before he turned to check. When he peered over his shoulder, like a curious bird, he was confronted with Thor’s kneecap, although his brother quickly sat beside him.

Loki raised a brow, and Thor leaned forward, surveying Loki’s stash. “Mother sent me,” he offered. His voice was detached, and he quickly lost interest in Loki’s hoard, snatching the mead for himself.

His brother sighed deeply before he took a long drink. Loki cautiously set his bottle down, his hand resting over it protectively. “She worries for you,” Thor said, more concentrating more on the mead than on his sibling.

“I know,” Loki said, his voice melancholy. “If you don’t want to be here, you can leave. I’ll tell her we had a lovely chat.” Loki wanted his brother at his side, and he would do anything to keep him here, but Thor’s attentions were clearly focused elsewhere.

“Don’t think you can keep all of this for yourself,” Thor retorted, holding up his bottle. “I’ll stay.”

Loki’s spirits lifted tremendously. Even if his brother was merely staying for the alcohol and not for Loki’s company, he was alone with his brother, a luxury he was seldom granted. Loki could not help the small smile that appeared on his face, a sliver of genuine happiness.

“How was the hunt?” he asked, punctuating his sentence with a mouthful of wine.

Thor snorted. “Awful,” he said, pursing his lips together for a moment. “We had all of our traps set, just about to flush a boar right into them, and Hogun stepped on a twig. Thing ran right off in the opposite direction.” He shook his head absentmindedly.

Loki laughed softly. His brother took another long drink, and Loki briefly wondered when he would come up to breathe. Eventually he finished, staring blankly out at the night sky before them, while Loki watched his brother in wonder.

“Don’t you get bored being cooped up in here all day?”

“Me?” Loki questioned. “No, never. Why?”

Thor shrugged. “It just seems...limited. Being stuck in here with only books and whatnot.”

Loki’s leveled his gaze on his brother. “Unlike _some_ of us, I was not allowed to run around with a sword in hand.”

Thor snickered. “Still bitter after all these years?” he chided, a wide grin revealing his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.

Loki had wanted to keep his anger, at least for a little while longer, but seeing his brother smile like that melted away his mild irritation. “Of course I am,” he said, teasingly, trying to keep the last remnants of hostility out of his voice.

His brother replied with another long drink, offering out the mead bottle to Loki, who held up one slender white hand in a gesture of refusal, and Thor cocked his head as if to say, _your loss._ Loki grasped the neck of his wine bottle possessively, demonstrating that he was not, in fact, missing out on anything.

Thor could easily out drink his brother, a fact Loki was well aware of. He didn’t attempt to challenge Thor, or even match pace with him. Instead, he finished the bottle at his own pace, idly chatting with his brother, all while the night grew darker around them, the stars scintillating pinpricks of light cast at random on a black canvas.

The alcohol took effect quickly, bringing a flush to Loki’s cheeks and dulling his senses. Suddenly, the world seemed to be a bit less threatening, colors warmer and friendlier, lines fuzzed out slightly, objects new and intriguing. The room was spinning faintly, the effect more pronounced whenever Loki turned his head too quickly, but he didn’t mind. His mind was too foggy now to worry about anything, and he settled into simply enjoying his brother’s company.

Thor was quickly just as drunk as Loki, his voice now booming, his motions awkward and uncoordinated now, a far cry from the careful, capable warrior he had been a few hours ago. The more intoxicated they both became, the faster the conversation descended into uncontrolled laughter from both parties, Loki cackling with tears in his eyes, Thor creating a cacophony with his deep, rumbling chuckle.

They calmed down eventually after several more laughing fits, and Loki wondered when the last time he had been this happy, this genuinely carefree. It had been a long time ago, too long, he realized, staring at Thor’s eyes, noting the way they turned up when his brother smiled.

“I think you’re sufficiently drunk,” he chided, poking Thor’s solid chest with one narrow, delicate finger.

“And you, too,” Thor returned.

It was the small moments like these that made Loki infinitely grateful that Thor was his brother. Despite his hardships, despite whatever pain he endured, Thor was there for him, to pick him up and dust him off and look out for him. It pained Loki to no end to know that they were not related by blood, but he took refuge in the fact that they had been raised as brothers, that they shared at least part of that bond.

He hoped that Thor would never learn the truth, never discover that the man he respected and protected and loved was not his brother, was not related to him or even of the same race as he was. Loki was forever an outsider and an imposter, and he didn’t want to tarnish himself in Thor’s eyes, not now, not ever.

The great golden oaf was starting to fall asleep, his eyes heavy and fluttering from time to time, his body swaying ever so slightly. Loki was more awake than he, and he decided that he had had his brother to himself for long enough that night. He carefully stood up, his legs wobbly and tremulous, but steady enough to do for tonight.

“Come on,” he said, reaching down to pull Thor’s heavy arm over his bony, angular shoulders. His brother struggled to his feet, tottering slowly as Loki led them to the door.

They were giggling now, like young handmaidens rather than the distinguished princes they were supposed to be. One of the guards tossed them a curious look, but Loki waved them off and continued to his brother’s room, guiding them inside with as much grace as he could muster.

He set Thor down on the bed, trying to settle his large, bulky brother in some kind of dignified fashion. All Thor wanted to do, however, was sleep, and he kept trying to simply lie down in his plate and mail, still wrapped in his silly red cape.

“At least let me—” Loki protested, grabbing a fistful of the soft fine wool in his hands and pulling, watching it come free at the clasps. He shoved it aside, piling it as neatly as he could, before he unhooked some of his brother’s plate, yanking it free as Thor protested weakly. He set it on the floor, head spinning from the exertion, his brother rolling onto his back and laughing softly.

“There,” he said, starting to back off the bed when he was grabbed at the wrist by a thick, powerful arm and pulled back up. Thor laid his brother on his side, facing him, suddenly appearing much more sober than he was.

“Thor, I—”

His brother didn’t reply, but he did release his wrist, Loki instantly pulling his hand to his chest as if he had been burned. Thor’s eyes were shut now, and his breathing had slowed a bit, leaving Loki pondering the possibility that his brother was asleep.

As children they had shared a room, and on many nights a bed. Loki had fond memories of climbing into his brother’s bed when he was frightened, either of the grim tales Tyr told them, or of a particularly nasty storm raging outside, or even just of the darkness itself. His older brother had never minded then—he would simply roll over and comfort Loki until he fell asleep next to Thor’s warm body. He missed those times, longed for the simple, innocent lives they had led back then.

Loki traced his long fingers down his brother’s arm, feeling the surge of muscle beneath them, the raw strength contained in Thor’s frame still baffling to Loki at times. He sighed, and wriggled slightly, nestling into the bed next to his brother, but trying not to rouse him, even though he figured Thor would be hard to awaken now.

His fingers skimmed higher, to his brother’s cheekbone, idly brushing a few strands of long blond hair from his face. Thor’s expression was tensed, even when he slept, and Loki wished he could take away whatever his brother worried over, whatever he feared, so that Thor would not know any kind of strife.

Loki started to pull his hand back to himself, running it down over Thor’s neck, then his collarbone, and finally his chest, lingering there for a long moment, relishing the soft _thump, thump_ of Thor’s heartbeat, a cadence to the melody of their brotherhood.

Just as Loki was about to remove his hand, Thor moaned.

It was vague and low, and Loki thought at first it was a product of his mind, a combination of the wine and his exhaustion, but when Thor’s eyes opened slightly, his dark blue irises focused tentatively on Loki, and his hands now seeking out his brother, Loki knew he hadn’t imagined it.

Thor held him close, but didn’t move, and Loki, unsure of what to do, placed his hands back on Thor’s chest. His brother sighed with satisfaction, and something twisted in Loki broke forth, something he had tried to conceal and hide and deny for years.

He wanted Thor.

Loki wanted to explore every inch of his skin, to feel him tensing and shifting, to tease and touch and find out just what exactly made Thor groan and flush with pleasure. He wanted to trace the fine lines of muscle on his stomach, wanted to kiss and nip the ridges at his hips, wanted to squeeze and grope the powerful sinew in his legs.

He wanted the man who the world considered to be his brother.

Instead of pulling his hands to his chest, he let them wander to Thor’s neck, lightly teasing at his collarbone. “Do you want this?” Loki asked, hesitant. He wanted to be bold and assured in matters such as this, but Loki had never taken another to his bed. On a few occasions he had pleasured himself, but the act was always quick and sordid, Loki feeling wretched and depraved afterwards.

Yet now he was lying here, next to the object of his fantasies.

Thor answered his question with a deliberate, short moan, one that was needy and desperate. Loki decided to not waste any more time, and shifted his hands lower, to the thin undershirt his brother wore. His bony hands slipped beneath the hem and slid upwards, feeling the planes of his abdomen and chest. The sensation brought a wry grin to his face, one of excitement and wanton desire.

Thor gave an urgent whimper, and Loki lightly scraped his nails down his brother’s chest, before he insistently tugged at his shirt. “Off,” he whispered, and Thor snaked his way out of it, trying not to jostle them too badly on the bed.

Loki savored the sight before him, leaning in to lave his tongue at the junction of Thor’s neck and collarbone. He bit down lightly, savoring the surprised gasp that he earned as a result. Pleasure flashed low in his stomach, and he snaked his leg between his brother’s, pulling their hips closer together.

Thor was pliant now, from the alcohol, desire and fatigue. And so when Loki’s hands dared to venture further, slipping beneath the waistband of his pants, Thor did nothing to stop him. Loki shifted further, until he reached his brother’s cock, finding it stiff in his palm. Licking his lips, he hesitantly gripped it the way he would his own, and was rewarded with a sharp groan, followed by Thor’s broad hand covering his, encouraging him.

He experimented with a few strokes, until the confines of Thor’s pants made the action too difficult. With a mildly frustrated scowl on his face, Loki hooked his hand in the waistband and pulled them down, Thor helpfully lifting his hips.

Loki couldn’t resist the temptation to look down, and he let his eyes wander, from his brother’s face, to his chest, and then finally coming to rest at his groin. His brother was hard, _hard_ for _him,_ and that was all that mattered right now. Loki had caused him to become this somewhat lewd creature, with a lustful, sleepy look in his formerly innocent eyes.

Thor buried his face in the crook of Loki’s neck, kissing him there and nipping occasionally as Loki resumed his stroking. Loki loved seeing Thor like this, having his adept brother at his mercy, mewling like a helpless kitten for the touch of Loki’s hand.

He heard Thor’s breathing become raspy, felt each hot puff on his neck as his brother began to thrust into his hand, urgent and jerky. Loki couldn’t help but smile, his own face flushed, body hopelessly aroused. This was different than the times in his room, than the quick, experimental sessions he had applied to himself while thinking of Thor. Now he was here, beside him, tangible flesh and bone under Loki’s fingers, and the sensation was a hundred times better.

“Yes, please,” Thor whispered against his neck, and Loki made his motions more deliberate, letting his fingers splay along the length of his brother’s cock. Thor’s thrusts were harder now, his hips rocking the bed, demanding and insistent, and Loki grew slightly nervous from the sheer desperation coming off of his brother.

Thor’s hips snapped up a few more times, quickly, and his brother let out a loud groan, holding Loki close with arms as strong as iron fetters. Loki’s eyes were wide from shock and surprise as he felt his brother spill hot into his hand and onto his thigh, before Thor’s whole body relaxed and his motions ceased.

Thor was almost trembling as he relaxed his arms, creating a fragment of space between him and Loki. There was silence now, punctuated by Thor’s irregular, heavy breathing, still hot on Loki’s neck. Loki suddenly felt too warm, too constrained, the presence of his brother’s hands arousing him and sending sparks of thrill across his skin.

He wanted more, but he wanted to be free at the same time. Thor’s attentions were now focused on him, groping him through the soft leather of his pants, squeezing his ass and running his hands down the backs of his thighs. His face was buried in Loki’s neck, nipping and biting there, worrying the skin between his teeth hard enough that Loki was _sure_ it would leave a mark.

Loki’s breath felt caught in his chest. Thor slipped his hands around to Loki’s front, beneath the hem of his shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers rough on Loki’s smooth skin. He gasped softly, unsure of what to do as Thor ran one broad hand up the length of Loki’s chest, thumbing his nipple when he reached it.

Thor responded with a tired, bemused grin, letting his hands linger there as Loki began to squirm. He inhaled sharply as Thor undid the fastenings on his pants, pulling them open and freeing his hard cock.

“Thor,” he whispered, a little afraid now, fingers tightly clutching his brother’s shoulder. The tables had been turned, and he lay at the mercy of Thor’s hands, and although Loki trusted Thor more than anyone else in the nine realms, this was not a situation he was prepared for.

When Thor began to touch him, Loki was overwhelmed with feeling. It was good, impossibly good, better than anything he could have ever imagined, and he was whimpering helplessly within seconds. But lurking in the back of his mind, ever-present, was the debilitating sense of shame, of debauchery, that Loki had been imbued with at such a young age.

His only other bedmate had been their father. The only other person to touch him in such a manner, to see him in the throes of ecstasy, had been the man who had raised them both.

Yet any time he had fantasized, it had been to the thought of Thor touching him, of telling him that he was beautiful, of kissing him and holding him. And now that he had what he desired most.

It was wrong. Loki felt the growing sense of shame in the back of his mind, a swirling, black cloud slowly pushing all out his other thoughts. Thor was inebriated—they were only in bed because his brother’s judgment was long gone, just like the alcohol he had drunk. If he were sober enough to realize his actions, Loki knew Thor would be furious with him.

Loki bit his lip, torn between pleasure and anguish. “Thor, stop,” he whispered, ending his request with a stifled moan. His brother’s hand stilled, Loki pulling him away gingerly by the wrist. Thor looked confused, almost hurt, and Loki averted his gaze, his porcelain skin still flushed.

“I can’t,” he whispered. Thor was too drunk to form any kind of a coherent protest.

Loki pushed himself to his knees on the bed, fixing his clothes and redoing his fastenings. He backed off the bed, his legs shaky as he put weight on them, and Loki quickly smoothed his hair, trying to make himself presentable.

Thor yawned sleepily in the bed, drawing Loki’s attentions back to him. He was half curled on his side, facing his brother, and Loki took a moment to pull the covers up over Thor, hiding the evidence of what he had just done to his own beloved brother. Loki was aware of Thor’s eyes on him, watching him with a perplexed, almost wounded expression, and he shied away, choosing to stare at the floor as he hurried out.

He shut the massive gold doors to his brother’s room and silently continued on his way, moving as fast as he could while still maintaining near-silence in his steps. He tripped once, while rounding a corner, but never hit the ground, instead catching himself before he tumbled to the floor.

The rest of the short trip was uneventful, until Loki nimbly slipped through the doors to his room, pushing them closed behind him. He was still aroused, his head spinning from the alcohol, and exhaustion beginning to blur his vision, and he stumbled to his bed, sitting on it before falling over onto his side in an undignified manner.

Loki drew his knees to his chest, yawning, the prior events of the night feeling surreal. He closed his eyes, recalling the memory of Thor’s hands on him, of the way his brother had felt beneath his fingertips, still knowing full well that when he opened them he would be alone in his massive bed.

But perhaps being alone wasn’t such a bad thing.

He screwed his eyes shut tighter. _No._ He shouldn’t. But his body was urging him otherwise, his skin overly sensitive, his pants tight in the groin, his breath coming in nervous, short bursts despite his attempts to still his mind.

He absentmindedly pushed his hips into the sheets, the friction good, and he moaned before biting the back of his hand. As he pulled it away, staring dumbly at the small marks left in his flesh from his teeth, the desire finally outweighed the shame on scales of his mind.

Loki undid the laces on his pants, much more smoothly than his brother had before. He licked his palm, and then, with a very satisfied sigh, wrapped his hand around his cock. His grip was tight, _just like how Thor’s had been,_ and after a few trial pumps he settled into a rhythm of quick, furtive strokes.

He groaned again, beginning to push and twist his hips in time with his hands, pleasure curling in his lower stomach, and he shut his eyes, recalling everything he could remember about lying with Thor. He yelped suddenly as his orgasm overtook him, coming in thick, hot spurts into his hand, the image of his brother’s muscular body and contented face in his mind’s eye.

Loki lay still, his body relaxing as his cock softened in his hand. He sighed, forcing his eyes open, and drew his hand from his pants, staring at the white fluid on his fingers with abhorrence. Grimacing, he wiped his hand off on the sheets, not bothering to fix his clothes this time.

He shut his eyes, wishing his bed weren’t so empty, and willed himself to sleep.

\---

Thor was unsure if it were midmorning or midafternoon when he woke.

As he drifted back into consciousness, he was distinctly aware of the splitting headache he had. He kept his eyes shut for a long while, not caring if he had other matters to tend to this morning, because he would be damned if he was setting foot off this bed with such pain rattling around his skull.

The bed was warm, and he felt the silk of his sheets and the velvet of his coverlet on his bare skin. The sensation wasn’t unusual, but Thor didn’t have much recollection of taking his shirt off the night before. When he finally cracked his eyes open, he spotted it a few feet away, on the other side of the bed, near the pillow.

Sighing, he stretched, pushing himself up into a plan position before abruptly curling back into the bed, clearly startled. His pants were open, and he felt… _sticky_ —just what had transpired last night?

Frowning, he reached for his shirt, trying to decipher the last thing he could remember. Frigga had come to him, mildly worried about Loki’s prolonged seclusion, and he had decided to go and give his brother a cursory check. They had started drinking, and that was where the night faded into obscurity.

 _Loki._

They hadn’t.

Thor suddenly felt sick. Perhaps they had gone somewhere, found a maiden or two, maybe even a man at a stretch, and brought them back. There was no reason to suspect it was Loki himself, none at all.

They were brothers, after all.

He took a deep breath, calming himself, before he crawled out from under the sheets. A cursory glance out the window told him that it was, in fact, still morning, albeit late morning. Frowning, he gathered his shirt and fixed his pants before heading off to get cleaned up.

By the time he was finished, he’d had some time to recollect his thoughts. Freshly bathed and with a clear head, he pushed open the doors to his room, ready to start the day, albeit a few hours behind schedule.

He did not get more than three steps down the hall, however, when he stopped. A fresh memory had turned up in his mind, uncovered by the familiar sight of the hallway. He remembered Loki half-carrying, half-dragging him to his room, Thor’s frame nearly too much for Loki to bear, but his brother had soldiered on, ever willing to help his older sibling.

But they had been alone. Just the two of them. No maidens, no men, no one else had accompanied them.

An uneasy feeling settled like a hot stone in the pit of his stomach. Thor shook his head. That couldn’t be right. He would consult Loki on this, and his brother would clear things up. Loki was clever, Loki would remember what had happened. His brother would be awake by now, and Loki was fairly easy to track down when he heard that Thor was looking for him.

But Loki was not off hiding today. Instead he was seated on his bed, several books spread around him, leafing eagerly through one while occasionally scanning another. Loki looked up as Thor’s loud footsteps preceded his arrival, and he smiled at the sight of his brother.

“Good morning,” he said, lighting up as Thor drew closer, shutting one of the doors behind him.

“Good morning,” Thor parroted, albeit much more distracted.

“Sleep well?” Loki said, shutting the book in his lap with a carefully placed thin finger to mark his page.

Thor nodded. Loki gave half a grin, followed by a quick, “Good.”

Thor stood there in silence for a long minute, Loki watching him with patient, curious eyes, leaning forward slightly, waiting in eager anticipation for whatever Thor might have to say.

“Did you need something?” he asked, shifting his hand on the book. His words drew Thor from his thoughts, where he had been frenetically trying to assemble his fears into some kind of a question.

“What happened last night?”

Loki laughed softly in disbelief. “You mean you don’t remember?”

“If I did, why would I be asking?” His tone was firm, and it annihilated any joy on Loki’s face in an instant.

“Fair enough,” he said, voice low and slightly hurt. “You came to see me, we got drunk, went out and about, and I tucked you into bed with a very lovely girl.”

Thor nodded slowly. It made sense; he had no real reason to doubt what Loki was saying. Loki was his _brother_ —there was…nothing like _that_ between them.

Loki shifted a bit, straightening up some, and his high collar pulled away from his neck slightly, exposing a reddish mark on his throat. A love bite, Thor recognized—he’d had and given his own fair share of them.

“Are you all right?” Loki asked, and Thor gave a sleepy blink.

“I’m fine,” he said, backing slowly toward the doors. “Take care, Brother.”

Loki nodded and opened the book in his lap once more. Thor watched him for a moment, Loki completely absorbed in the words on the page, the ones his eyes were rapidly skimming over, and he didn’t even look up as Thor shut the door.

\---

Thor quickly forgot about that night.

The next week was filled with another hunt (this one much, much more successful), and a banquet. The palace had buzzed and hummed with the excitement over both events, and Thor had quickly thrown himself into the hubbub, using the distraction as an excuse to quiet a nagging doubt that wouldn’t leave him.

Loki did not accompany them on the hunt, although Thor made a point this time to invite him. He had sent Sif, figuring that Loki would appreciate the invitation more coming from someone besides his brother, even though Thor wasn’t sure of the sincerity of Sif’s request.

He did, however, join them at the feast, standing quietly in a corner, completely unsure of what to do. He had made earlier attempts to socialize, but his charming words were off tonight, and he had been slowly shunned from any circle he had tried to join. Thor was roiling with laughter at one of Fandral’s stories, making the entire table jump when he brought his fist down on it in delight.

Eventually he calmed down, wiping the tears of merriment from his eyes. He was drunk, reasonably so, because in Thor’s mind any gathering was simply an excuse to drink and laugh with friends. But despite his inebriation, he spotted his brother, attempting to casually sip from his goblet, acting like it was _his choice_ to ignore all of those around him.

“Brother!” Thor called, much too loudly and much too eagerly. “Join us!” He patted the bench beside him, and Loki looked at him with a somewhat ashamed gaze.

However reluctant he was, Loki did stride across the room to sit next to his brother. He was promptly plied with ale and mead and whatever else they could turn up, until Loki was flushed and his silver tongue was slurring. They continued to trade stories, going around in a circle, and Thor watched Loki drinking himself beyond a stupor.

Just as Loki was pouring himself another goblet and Sif was beginning a tale of embarrassing, lighthearted woe, Thor snatched the cup from Loki’s hand. Loki shot him an incredulous, stupefied look, still holding the bottle with jerky, uncoordinated hands.

“Give that back,” he protested.

Thor shook his head no. He was still quite intoxicated, but sober enough to know that his brother had gone far beyond his limit. Loki pouted, but none of his attempts to garner sympathy worked, and Thor kept the goblet.

Giving up, Loki folded his arms on the table and cradled his head in them, using the table as a makeshift pillow. Sif looked at him with concern, and Thor sighed.

“I think you should take him back to his room,” she said, stating _exactly_ what was on Thor’s mind.

Thor rose from the bench, holding his arms out to steady himself as he rose. Shaking his head, he nudged Loki’s shoulder, trying to rouse him. “Come, Brother,” he said, beginning to pull Loki to a standing position. His brother was light, and it was an easy feat for Thor.

Loki made an inarticulate noise as Thor looped his thin arm over his shoulders. “Just let me sleep here,” he objected, his words slurring together, and he awkwardly fumbled to point at the table.

Despite Loki’s continued griping, Thor brought him all the way back to his bedchamber. Halfway through the trip, Mjolnir clanking against his belt with every step, Thor had simply picked Loki up and slung him over his shoulder like he were nothing more than a sack.

“You’re such a killjoy, brother,” Loki hiccupped, as Thor pushed open the doors one handed, his other on Loki’s legs to keep him steady. Once or twice, when Loki slipped and Thor had been forced to squeeze his thighs to keep him from falling, he had thought he heard Loki moan, but he classified it as some drunken nonsensical noise.

He kicked the door shut behind him, trying to be gentle, and carried Loki over to the bed. Despite the awkward manner he had carried Loki in, Thor was surprisingly tender in depositing his brother onto the mattress. Loki held onto Thor’s shoulders as he eased him down into a sitting position, and Thor flushed as his brother let his hand linger too long on his chest.

Loki’s hand drifted a bit lower, almost too lovingly, coming to rest on Mjolnir’s handle. He snorted in a combination of amusement and frustration, before glancing up at Thor. “Do you remember how you came to have this?”

“Of course I do.”

Loki grinned, clearly satisfied that Thor remembered his legacy. Suddenly his face sobered, and he looked almost disappointed. “I was such a fool.”

“Never a fool, brother,” Thor corrected. “Sometimes too smart, but never a fool.”

Loki’s hand flew to his face, resting over his lips, ghosting over scars long healed and faded there. Thor pulled his hand away, nudging Loki to lie onto the bed.

 _Loki left Asgard a menace and returned a champion._

 _Thor remembers how his fury had driven his brother from the palace, from Asgard itself—Loki was afraid of him, so terribly afraid of his brother’s wrath. He had spun promises, saying he would fix what he had done, that he would get someone to make new golden, glimmering hair for Sif, but Thor hadn’t cared for Loki’s empty pledges._

 _But Loki had disappeared, returning days later with treasures in his arms. A dwarf, Brokk, follows him, carrying more prizes, but Loki pays him no mind. He struts almost proudly into the throne room, as if ignorant of his past wrong, of the reason he was nearly forced to leave. He comes to stand before them, before all of them—Odin, Frigga, Thor, Sif and Frey—and lays his collection out for them to see. The treasures are theirs to judge, he says, but such is his confidence that at that time he mentions nothing of having wagered his head, of what he has at stake if his loot is deemed inferior._

 _For Sif he brings new hair, and it is as he assured: golden, shining and as perfect as her old hair was. To Frey he gives Skidbladnir, the ship that can summon a fair wind wherever its sail is raised. And then he stands before Odin, suddenly sheepish and meek, and holds out the spear, Gungnir. When his father accepts it, relief washes over Loki, so potent that even Thor feels calmed._

 _Brokk lays his out next, and Loki is alarmed, but does his best to hide it. To Frey goes the golden boar, to use as the swiftest of mounts, to Odin Draupnir, the ring that drips gold copies of itself every ninth night, and to Thor, Mjolnir, the best weapon he has ever touched._

 _Mjolnir is the best treasure. They all agree._

 _Loki has lost the wager._

 _His brother panics, at first, and tries to run, but he is caught quickly, and it is then that he accepts his punishment, composing himself and appearing as collected as he can be. It doesn’t last long, as Brokk promptly announces he wants to cut off Loki’s head. His brother’s eyes flash with fear, but his cunning mind is already at work._

 _“You’ve no right to my neck,” he states arrogantly. “My head, yes, because that is what I wagered, but my neck belongs to me.”_

 _No one can find fault with that argument, not even Brokk himself, and this infuriates him. He decides it will be more appropriate to sew Loki’s mouth shut and deprive him of his silver tongue._

 _To his credit, Loki does not cry out as his skin is punctured with an awl and the cord pulled through. He flinches, yes, many times, but even Thor knows that he would, from the suddenness of the pain. Afterwards he is dumped on the floor, a disgrace once more, and the hall empties out, save for Thor, lingering in a far doorway._

 _In the silence of the room, he can hear his brother weeping, Loki’s face buried in his palms. When he is certain that everyone is gone, Thor approaches him, standing before him until Loki pries his hands away and stares up at Thor, utterly ashamed and disappointed in himself. There is blood running down his chin and neck, tears down his cheeks, and he is a wretchedly pitiable sight._

 _Thor can feel the weight of his new hammer at his belt, and he knows that Loki has paid for it in shame and blood. He helps his brother up and takes him back to his room, Loki sitting on the bed while Thor rummages through Loki’s things looking for something, anything to cut through the thong sewing his mouth closed._

 _Loki rustles through some things and procures a stick of charcoal and some paper. He writes something on it and then holds it up for Thor to see between his frenetic pawing._

 __“Are you disappointed in me?” __

 _“No, absolutely not,” Thor says. Loki still seems crestfallen. “Amused, worried sometimes, but never disappointed.”_

 _Loki writes something else on the paper, and then holds it up._

 __“Do you still love me?” __

 _Thor is taken aback by the question, and he hesitates too long, far too long, and Loki shoves the paper a bit more at him, a plea for urgency in his eyes._

 _“Always, Loki,” Thor replies. At this Loki is sated, his fears at least temporarily assuaged, and Thor resumes his search, his back to Loki. When he hears his brother whimper in pain he turns around. “I’m sorry, I’m looking, but there’s nothing—”_

 _Loki is holding one of his throwing knives, cutting apart each stitch and pulling them free with his slippery fingers, coated in his own blood. He catches Thor’s eye, but there is no smile, no reassurance, and Thor rushes to him._

 _He takes the knife from Loki’s shaky, reddened fingers, and as gingerly as possible, he cuts the remaining stitches. Loki tries not to wince, but Thor can tell that each little tug hurts him._

 _When they are cut, he begins to pull them free, and Loki tries not to recoil, but it is hard for him, Thor can plainly see that. He shuts his eyes and cringes, waiting for it to be over, and as the last stitch is pulled free Loki seems to deflate a bit._

 _He leans forward, resting his forehead on his brother’s shoulder, and Thor hears him sobbing once more. “Shh,” he says, “don’t talk.”_

 _Loki has never been one to listen to the advice of others. “Thank you,” he chokes out, and Thor holds him until he can compose himself._

“I wagered my head for that damn hammer,” Loki said, his voice flat.

“And I’m very glad you still have it,” Thor retorted.

Loki was watching him with tired eyes, curling up into a ball. Thor forced him to unwind a bit, so he could pull his boots and vest off before slinging the covers over his brother. Loki settled into them, asleep within minutes, covers drawn under his chin. Thor set the boots on the floor beside his bed, folding the vest in half before resting it at the foot of the mattress. Loki never stirred, his breathing turning deep and regular.

Thor staggered back to his own room, back to the comfort of his own sheets, and was quickly claimed by sleep himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks and all my creys go to my beta. She keeps me sane, on track, and well supplied with bathtubs for all of my tears. You can find her here on AO3 as Moiraine, and on FF.net. Her fic Mistakes is probably the single best Dragon Age thing I’ve ever read—look into it.
> 
> AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiraine/pseuds/Moiraine
> 
> FF.net: http://www.fanfiction.net/~cadsuane

All was well until Heimdall summoned Thor.

One of the guards roused him the next morning, telling him that Heimdall wished to speak with him urgently. Thor batted him away, finding some fresh clothes before stumbling out to meet the Gatekeeper.

Heimdall did not train his eyes on Thor when he arrived at Himinbjorg, for he had no need. He heard and saw everything; it made little difference where he chose to _look._

Thor suddenly felt tawdry and unkempt, and for a split second he understood his brother’s obsessive vanity. He pushed his hair out of his face with one hand, standing up straight and trying to look as regal and authoritative as possible.

“You sent for me?” he asked.

Heimdall bowed his head slightly. “I summoned you to warn you,” came the reply.

“To warn me?” Thor asked, incredulous.

Heimdall nodded. “Too much drink does not incur good things for you, my lord,” he said, finally shifting his eyes to Thor. “Unless that night was your intention.”

“Last night? Nothing happened last night. I drank, yes, but afterwards I retired to my own bed. Alone,” he added as an afterthought.

Heimdall blinked slowly. “That is not the night that I speak of.”

Thor narrowed his eyes. “There is no other night—”

“There is, my lord, and although you do not wish to acknowledge the truth of it that does not mean it did not happen.”

His mind flew through any other possible dates in his memory, and only one stood out. But Loki had told him what happened that night…. “Heimdall, what are you insinuating?” Thor asked, tired of not being spoken directly to.

“Your brother is a liar,” Heimdall replied without hesitation.

Thor snorted in disbelief. “Loki wouldn’t lie to me about what happened that night—”

Heimdall’s gaze was cold. “I see all.” After a moment, he added, “And unlike your brother, I have no reason to hide the truth from you.”

Thor felt sick, his head spinning, his skin prickling with heat, his throat burning. “My brother and I…we…Loki….” His thoughts were jumbled, disoriented, a confusing web of half-formed notions, but all drenched in the overwhelming sense of dread and wretchedness now coursing through Thor’s veins.

“No. No, no, no,” he said, gripping his head at his temples. “We _didn’t_ , we _couldn’t_ , it’s _Loki_ , he’s not _like_ that…”

He looked to Heimdall, praying that it was all just a joke, a prank orchestrated by his brother. It was a prank he would throttle Loki for, but one he could forgive. Instead, Heimdall gave him a melancholy, mournful gaze, as if he regretted playing witness to these events.

“There is much you do not know about your brother,” he said, softly, and Thor wondered if the statement were supposed to comfort him.

“What I _do_ know,” Thor said, “disturbs me to no end.” Before Heimdall had any time to comment, to protest, Thor was on his way out, walking with an unprecedented fervor, wanting to sprint to his destination, but knowing that it would not get him there much faster.

His thoughts hounded him the entire time he walked. Details began to bother him—Loki’s nonchalant attitude, the maiden who was a figment of words, the love bite on his brother’s neck. Oh, how Thor prayed he hadn’t left that on Loki’s throat. To have reciprocated in this act only sickened him more.

The doors to Loki’s room were flung unceremoniously open, and Thor instantly spotted his startled brother at one of his massive bookshelves. Thor was upon him in a second, Loki pressed back against the shelf, cowering as Thor approached.

“Brother, what’s wrong—” he began, until Thor’s massive hand closed around his neck and crushed his windpipe enough to prevent his speech.

Loki’s narrow hands clawed at Thor’s wrist, trying to pry his fingers free to no avail. He made a croaking sound, probably some form of pleading, and Thor only squeezed harder.

“When I let go of your throat, Loki,” he warned, “you are going to tell me what _really_ happened that night. And if you try and lie to me again, so help me—”

Loki nodded eagerly, his face beginning to darken from lack of air. Thor released him and he dropped like a stone, gasping wildly, and as he looked up at his brother, Thor could see a handprint-shaped bruise already forming on his neck.

“Start from the beginning,” Thor cautioned, glowering down at Loki. His brother was rubbing his neck, his face still half-twisted in pain, lower lip quivering uncertainly.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked faintly.

“Sitting with you on the balcony,” Thor said.

Loki nodded, his eyes drifting away from Thor as a blank, distant expression took over his face. His brother’s narrow fingers stayed at his collar, nervously twisting the fabric there. “We were drinking,” he said, “and talking, and it got late, and you were very, very drunk, and so was I.” Loki’s confession was slow and soft, each word carefully chosen, and he saw the pain in his brother’s eyes multiply with each new syllable.

“And you were tired, so I…I helped you back to your room,” he said. “Got you settled in bed. And you pulled me down next to you, like when we were younger.” He paused, an eerie smile on his face, the calm in the center of the storm. “And I was just lying there at first, and then…then you moaned, Thor, and I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t resist touching you.”

There were several tears running down Loki’s face now. “And I asked you if you wanted me to, and you—”

“Don’t try and blame this on me!” Thor snapped. Loki flinched at his words.

“I kept touching you,” he said, eyes closed, body still half-coiled, anticipating a blow from his brother. “Until you….” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed thickly. “And then, after, you tried to touch me, but that was when I left.”

Loki’s breath was coming in short, sporadic bursts, and Thor watched him teeter on the edge of anguish, trying desperately to hold back the fearful, humiliated tears circling beneath the whites of his eyes. The longer Thor watched him, the more his loathing for him grew, twisting his face into blatant hatred and loathing. His brother was nothing more than a cunning, amoral _snake_ , lacking the honor and dignity he should have as an Aesir.

“I’m sorry, Thor,” Loki whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. He was quivering now, the tremors becoming more pronounced as Thor stood before him without striking, though his hands and arms flexed as if he wanted to. He didn’t dare look at his brother, didn’t have the bravery to meet his brother’s judgmental, disgusted gaze.

“Why did you do it?” Thor asked, stepping around to Loki’s front. Loki hunched quickly, the deer making one last, vain effort to escape the jaws of the wolf before him.

Loki’s hands pushed his black hair from his face, and he gave a shaky sigh. “Because…because I am a selfish, horrid man, Brother.” He finally gave a quick, darting look upwards, quickly diverting his gaze when he saw the utterly condemning look on Thor’s face. “Because…you were there, and I…I _wanted_ you, and you didn’t _stop me…._ ”

His brother turned his hands to fists, digging his nails into his palms. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. He tilted his head downward, as if offering himself as a sacrifice, as reparations for what he had done. “He _made_ me this way, Thor, I can’t help it. I was wrong, but—”

“Silence yourself,” Thor said, his tone acerbic and biting. “I have no desire to hear your sniveling excuses.”

The sight of him, so prone and waiting, angered Thor. He was furious at his brother’s betrayal, at this man before him who had, in one night, in one act, trampled all over the bonds they had formed in childhood and set fire to any and all affection between them. Suddenly Loki was foreign, alien, an interloper in Thor’s life, one who did not belong here and one who he wanted gone.

“You…you incestuous letch!” Thor suddenly roared, bringing his fist down on one of the beautiful black lacquered bureaus in Loki’s room. The thing splintered as though it had been made of glass, shards flying out in all directions and littering the floor.

Loki began to back away, scrabbling on the floor. “Thor, no, please,” he said, holding up his hands as a sign of surrender. “We were drunk! No one has to know!” There more were tears in his eyes now, ones of fear and apprehension, and his eyes widened as his brother’s figure stepped closer to loom over him.

“No one will ever know,” Thor spat, towering over Loki’s frame. He shoved him, hard, a twisted feeling of utter satisfaction snaking through him as he watched his brother fall, pain crossing his face. Loki tried to scrabble away, but Thor planted a boot on the edge of his vest, pinning him in place.

“Yes,” Loki breathed. “Absolutely. Of course.” His face seemed to be a thinly-constructed façade, unusual for Loki, who was typically a master of his emotions. It seemed as though his mask would shatter any second, and Thor was entirely unsure of what twisted emotions he might find underneath.

He started to turn away, prepared to leave his brother in a sniveling heap on the floor, when he felt a weak tug at his pant leg. He stopped, glowering over his shoulder, steeling himself against Loki’s pitiful expression. It was a difficult mental struggle for a long second, but he won, maintaining his stoic, unforgiving expression.

“Thor,” Loki begged softly. “Let me fix this.”

He snorted. “And how do you propose to do that?”

Loki nimbly slipped around to his brother’s front side, kneeling before him, his hands suddenly at his brother’s hips. “Like this,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to Thor’s stomach, and Thor felt a flash of arousal seeing his brother like that, feeling his breath on his groin, his hands on his waist.

Anger replaced lust in a mercurial fit of emotion. _Loki proposed to remedy an act of incest with more forbidden coupling?_ Thor flung his brother away with two strong hands at Loki’s shoulders, sending Loki viciously flying backwards. He landed on his back a few feet away, his head cracking against the marble with a satisfying thud, and he whimpered like a beaten dog.

“Do not mock me,” Thor snarled as Loki’s eyes fluttered open. Thor moved to stand over him, towering over Loki’s prone figure on the floor, his brother staring at him with fearful, nearly crazed eyes. He flinched as Thor moved again, and a feeling of smug satisfaction swept through Thor.

He left his despondent, perverted brother on the floor just as Loki began to weep.

\---

Thor wanted nothing more to do with his brother.

Over the next few days, he found any and all gifts, totems and tokens Loki had ever given him and disposed of them. He wasn’t discreet in his task, either—in fact, he made a show of it, often leaving broken bits and pieces outside his brother’s door, the miniature slain on the proverbial battlefield between the two of them.

His hatred grew so fierce that he even eyed Mjolnir a few times, contemplating the thought of getting rid of his beloved weapon, too. It was a satisfying fantasy to entertain—Loki would beg him not to, sobbing like the weak, depraved loon he was while Thor calmly played the martyr, sacrificing a precious possession in the name of honor.

All of Asgard knew of their fight within a day, yet neither Frigga nor Odin paid much mind to this, nor Baldr—all attributed it to merely a spat between the two boys, one that they would quickly get over. Baldr had even offered to mediate between the two, a promise that Loki had quickly taken him up on, but Thor had flat out denied Baldr when he came to ask him.

Four days later, Thor had almost eliminated everything that even remotely reminded him of Loki.

Small things continued to pop up. On the fifth morning, Thor found a necklace in the drawer he kept his greaves in. Finely crafted, exquisitely beautiful, laced with diamonds, Thor remembered how magnificent it had looked draped around Freya’s narrow neck—and how awkward and misplaced it had been on his own.

 _“Trust me, Thor,” Loki says, a wicked, mischievous smile playing on his lips. It makes Thor feel all the more uncomfortable, but he reluctantly stands still before the big mirror as Loki fastens the Brisings’ necklace, on loan from Freya, around his thick neck. His nimble fingers manage to get the clasp to close, but it is uncomfortable around his throat. “Thrym will find you a splendid bride, and you’ll have Mjolnir back before anyone’s the wiser!”_

 _Thor remains stoic as Loki helps him into the dress. It comes to his knees and looks ridiculous—how will anyone buy this as a disguise? Loki seems undeterred, however, and quickly sets to work, his tongue a pink sliver against narrow lips as he concentrates on the fastenings in back._

 _“Hmm,” he says, contemplative, and Thor freezes._

 _“What?”_

 _“It won’t…fasten,” Loki admits._

 _Thor sighs in frustration, and Loki seizes the moment to pull the draws a bit tighter. Thor feels his ribs compress, his breath in shallow pants now, and he wants to berate his brother, but Loki is laughing silently with a devious twinkle in his eyes._

 _He rests his head on Thor’s shoulder, staring at both of them in the mirror. “There she is,” he says, wrapping his arms around his brother in mock affection, “the blushing bride!”_

 _Thor snorts in disapproval. Loki grins, pats his brother on the shoulder, and releases him. “Let’s see how the veil looks,” he says, placing it neatly on his Thor’s head, draping the cloth down to conceal his face._

 _He steps back, satisfied with his work, and Thor eyes the floor like a sullen child. He gives an impatient, annoyed sigh. “This will never work, Loki,” he says, the doubt blatant in his voice._

 _“I’ll use a glamour on you,” Loki offers. “Thrym will never notice.”_

 _Thor chuckles. “And what of you, Loki?”_

 _Loki shushes him. “Not necessary, Brother.”_

 _When Thor looks back at Loki, his brother is gone, replaced by a beautiful, buxom woman clad in Loki’s clothing._

 _“Brother?”_

 _“Hmm?” Loki responds, now perusing through Freya’s dresses to find one for himself (herself?)._

 _Thor is grateful that Loki cannot truly see his face—he is blushing at the sight of his brother like this. Loki is infinitely more graceful, more appealing, more attractive overall as a woman. His natural daintiness and poise is amplified in this female form, and he no longer looks frail. Instead, he is a feminine wonder, a maiden who would certainly catch Thor’s eye if only…_

 _…if only he weren’t Thor’s_ brother. __

 _Thor turns even redder when Loki sheds his clothes without regard, having selected a dress. He coughs softly, and Loki looks over, his eyes dark with amusement._

 _“I did not know you could…” Thor confesses._

 _Loki’s full lips press into a smirk. “I’m sure you’ve seen these parts, brother,” he says before pulling the bodice of the dress up. “Here, lace me up.”_

 _Thor does as he is told, his thick, mannish fingers fumbling with the ties. Eventually he gets it closed, the fabric hugging Loki’s thin, curvaceous body._

 _He can’t think of much else the entire trip, not until Mjolnir is back in his hands and he is smashing skulls in a bloodied gown. After the fighting is over, he searches around the wreckage of the hall for Loki, finding his brother, once again his very male self, wearing the same dress. His cleavage is gone, and so are the curves, and Thor misses them for too long a moment._

 _“The dress was sort of tight here,” Loki offers, skimming his hand across his chest._

 _Thor nods in agreement and tears the veil off his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s about to do the same with the necklace when Loki stops him._

 _“Don’t you want a souvenir from this trip, Brother?” he says jokingly, already beginning to walk away. Thor lets his hand linger on the necklace for a few seconds, before pulling it off anyway._

 _He does, however, keep it in his hand._

 _It’s a reminder of this trip, of the loyalty Loki has, his devotion to his brother, willing to go so far as to put on a silly dress and follow Thor into Jotunheim. Thor knows that from this second on, he can never question Loki’s fidelity again, and the necklace will serve to remind him of that._

 _Freya doesn’t need it back, anyway._

Thor thumbed the center jewel, watching it glint a breathtaking shade of amber in the dim sunlight. He knew he should toss this bauble like the others, but perhaps there was a line he was not meant to cross. He couldn’t remove Loki from these halls, and he reasoned that it wouldn’t hurt too much to keep one small totem of the good days spent with his brother. To Loki’s knowledge, this would be gone, just like the others.

\---

For how light Loki was on his feet, Thor could still hear him pacing outside his door.

It went on for the better part of an hour, Loki taking about ten to twelve steps in one direction, followed by a long pause, and then nearly the same number of returning steps. Thor had initially thought that he would leave after a few minutes, but Loki lingered, his pacing alternating between frenetic periods of rapid steps and slow, meandering lulls.

Thor realized with mild bewilderment that this was the first time he knew of Loki setting foot outside his room since their argument.

At first, he had been able to ignore it, but the tapping was beginning to get to him. He wanted to step outside and yell at Loki, to scare him off like one would a scavenging dog, but that meant he would be forced to acknowledge Loki. Just the thought of doing so turned Thor’s stomach.

Each set of _tap-taps_ irritated him more and more, until he was nearly at his breaking point, about to go and scold his wretch of a sibling, when the door cracked open a hair, pushed by Loki’s long, white fingers wrapped around the edge.

“Thor?” he asked meekly.

Thor remained where he is, standing at his bureau, pretending to sort through his iron gloves and mail. A pitter-patter follows, punctuated by a decisive _click_ as Loki stepped into the room and sealed the door behind him.

The steps stopped, and Thor continued to ignore Loki.

“Brother?” Loki asked, his voice cracking midway.

Thor sighed, leaning his head against the bureau for a second, and after a long, pregnant pause, he turned to face his brother. “Leave,” he said, wishing he could cut his brother down with his stare alone.

Loki’s face flashed with hurt and rejection, but he remained where he was, instead dropping to his knees and dipping his head. “Thor,” he pleaded, “please listen to me.”

Thor bit back a snide comment, and instead folded his arms over his chest.

Loki swallowed. “I don’t care what you do. Hit me, yell and scream at me, parade me naked through the streets of Asgard and proclaim what a pervert I am, but please, _please_ , Brother, _forgive_ me.” His hands were furling and unfurling into fists, resting on his thighs, and Thor felt a pang of guilt stab at his heart.

Perhaps he was being hard on Loki. His brother had made a mistake, a genuine mistake—Thor knew Loki harbored no _true_ malice towards him in his heart. And this display was a far cry from Loki’s normally unapologetic nature. Perhaps his brother was truly sorry?

But Thor wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet. He wanted to hold onto this anger a bit longer, to make Loki truly suffer and regret what he had done.

“No, Loki,” he said. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Loki looked up at him, his brows furrowing together. “Wha—? No, Thor, _please_. Without you I am _alone_ here, you don’t understand—” He rose to his feet, hands pushing his hair from his face.

“I do, Loki,” Thor replied coolly. “I understand that you took advantage of me, _your own brother_ , when we were both drunk.”

Loki shook his head, anguished. “I know, Brother! I know and for that I’m sorry, but _please_ —” He was frantic now, his eyes shiny, right on the verge of sobbing.

“No, Loki,” Thor repeated, much sterner this time.

“What do you want, then?” Loki asked, licking his lips. “Any treasure, name it, and I will get it, at whatever cost—”

Thor’s face scrunched slightly in frustration. “I desire no material gifts.” Loki quickly looked down, another plan formulating in his mind.

“Hit me, brother,” Loki pleaded, looking once more at Thor, desperation contorting his features. “Hit me and take out whatever resentments you harbor—”

Thor recoiled. “I will not strike you,” he said, taking half a step backward as Loki continued to approach, a deranged look in his eyes, as if all sanity had fled.

“Use me, then,” Loki spat. “Use me for whatever you like. I’ll do _anything_ , Thor, just please for—”

“Loki!” Thor snapped. “Stop this!”

“Why, Thor?” Loki hissed, tears running down his face, his eyes red-rimmed. Thor noticed for the first time how truly awful his brother looked, with puffy, bloodshot eyes traced by gray circles, no doubt from lack of sleep, and dull, greasy hair tangled in snarls. “Because I’m your _brother_ and you will not see me beg before you?” He laughed cynically, savoring Thor’s stupefied expression.

Suddenly all the excitement, all the fervor, seemed to drain from Loki, and he stopped dead in his tracks, drawing a shuddering breath. “You need not worry, for I am not your brother, Thor,” he said, his voice low and utterly empty. “I never was and I never will be.” He buried his face in his palms and let out a stifled, anguished cry, one that rooted Thor to the spot, and he watched helplessly as Loki cried without restraint.

“Loki,” he said, but Loki had already turned on his heel and fled.

Thor did not pursue him. He honestly didn’t know if Loki wanted to be pursued.

He was, however, troubled for the rest of the afternoon. Loki was already despondent, remaining locked in his rooms for days on end, and Thor knew his brother wasn’t taking care of himself. His brother might have been incestuous, but Thor did not ish him actual harm, and he asked a guard to stroll by Loki’s room and make sure he had anything he might need.

Loki’s words also weighed heavily on him, and he was especially disturbed by Loki’s claim that they were not brothers. Despite what Loki had done, despite the incest, they still shared that bond of brotherhood, and Thor would defend Loki’s life if need be.

After the initial shock of his brother’s visit had worn off, Thor left to find his friends, eager for some outside social contact that had nothing to do with the yoke around his neck that Loki had become.

He spent the next few nights indulging in wine and women, drinking so much he could barely stand by the end of the evening, and waking up each morning to a different girl in his bed (on one occasion, two girls). The further into debauchery he sank, the easier it was to forget Loki, to forget what they had done. He could erase that memory and replace it with countless better ones, ones where his brother hadn’t crawled into bed beside him like a lover.

Thor couldn’t change the past, but he could pretend it had never happened.

\---

Frigga knocked so delicately that Thor almost did not hear her.

Before he had time to acknowledge whoever was at his door, she had pushed it open, surprisingly strong for her thin frame, and strode inside, clutching something in her hands. Thor set down the hauberk he had been looking over, focusing his attentions on his mother as she looked up at him.

“So it’s you who’s been leaving these little…things outside Loki’s room?” she asked, opening her palms to show Thor what she held in her hands. It was a tiny doll, clad in armor, with soft boar bristles dyed yellow for hair, clad in miniature armor and wielding a tiny wooden sword in the one arm it still possessed. The other arm, which at one time had borne a miniscule wooden shield, was cracked off at the shoulder, snapped in Thor’s rage as he had thrown it to the floor.

“I…yes,” he said, embarrassed, eyeing the hauberk once more. He noticed a tear in it—he’d have to get that repaired, the sooner the better….

She sighed sadly. “I remember the day Loki gave this to you. _Magni Thorsson_ , that was the name he insisted on. Greatest warrior in the nine realms.” Frigga fondly looked up at her son. “Do you remember that? Playing with him when you were so small? You gave one to him, too, and the two of you used to sit outside coming up with grand adventures for them to go on.”

He took the small doll from her, and it seemed so much smaller resting in his hand than it had been in hers. Thor remembered being a child, running through the halls with his brother, with _Magni Thorsson_ a step behind him, ready to embark on whatever quest their imaginations came up with that day.

Perhaps he had been wrong to throw this away.

He thumbed the broken arm with his finger, the wood rough against his skin. What had happened to them? Why could he not go back to the days of childhood innocence? Thor sighed and stepped backwards, sitting on his bed, the covers dipping around him.

“What’s wrong, my son?” Frigga asked, sitting on the bed next to him, her tiny, delicate frame dwarfed by his hulking presence.

“Nothing,” he said, flashing a false smile. Frigga’s face sobered.

“Is it about this…this feud with Loki?” she asked, resting her hands on her lap.

Thor sighed and looked away. She gave him a tender, bemused smile as he finally met her eyes, nodding slightly.

“You know, this would be easier if you told us what you two were fighting about,” she said, tilting her head slightly, but Thor shook his head no.

“I can’t, Mother,” he said. She raised her brows but did not inquire further.

“Whatever it is between you two, I hope you resolve it soon,” she said, reaching out to touch the side of his face. “I can’t stand to see either one of my boys in pain.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, blushing slightly. His mother always made him feel like a young boy, a whelp with no accomplishments to his name. “I’m sure it will be water under the bridge between us soon.”

The statement was such a lie that Thor was amazed to have heard himself utter it.

“I hope so,” she said, rising from the bed, bending down to plant a kiss on her beloved son’s forehead. He tried not to wince from embarrassment. As she turned to go, however, he grabbed her sleeve, one last question burning in his mind.

“Mother,” he began, pausing to choose his next words carefully. “Loki _is_ your son, isn’t he? And my brother?”

She looked dumbstruck. “Yes, of course he is,” she answered assuredly. “Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“Just something he said,” Thor confessed. “I think it was just in anger.”

She shook her head. “You know better than anyone that your brother’s words are not always the truth.”

“Yes, I know.” Thor knew _all_ too well at this point. He gave her a weak grin. “Goodnight, Mother.”

“Goodnight, my son.”

Thor watched the tail end of her train disappear behind the door, his thoughts still racing, only partially quelled by his mother’s revelation. It was comforting to know that Loki’s words had only been spoken in rage, and that there was no truth to them, but the fact that Loki had _said_ them, had truly wished such a thing, that bothered Thor.

\---

Socializing, however, was only a temporary panacea.

Loki’s absence was a gaping, ugly wound, a nagging reminder of the reason why he had been shunned from the group (although Thor had not breathed a word of their encounter, it was fairly easy to tell when he was feuding with Loki). Thor suddenly felt it everywhere, nearly constantly—out with the Warrior’s Three and Sif, sparring in the courtyard, at each and every mealtime.

His comrades did not seem to mind. In fact, aside from Sif, they rather enjoyed the freedom from Thor’s little brother. Fandral had remarked on several occasions that they all felt much more free, much less hampered without “Loki the pest” around. The comment had taken Thor off guard at first, but he realized that there was a lot of truth in it. Without Loki there to tag along and dampen their fun, Thor’s friends seemed looser, more relaxed, and he enjoyed the change.

Normally Loki lingered like a shadow, ever-present but rarely noticed. Now that he was gone, secluded away in his room, Thor suddenly became aware of all the times he _had_ been there. He didn’t know how much longer he could let Loki, and by extension, himself, suffer, but there were still things he needed to sort out for himself.

He wasn’t doing a very good job of attempting to resolve those issues, instead indulging himself in a variety of vices each night, from drinking to gambling to whoring. His father had taken note of this, and Thor had caught his disapproving looks several times, either at mealtimes or when Thor had seen him in the throne room, and it was enough to make Thor’s confidence wither temporarily.

And so, when Odin barged into Thor’s room, unannounced, after his third night of rambunctious fun, Thor was expecting to be berated for his reckless behavior.

But his father said nothing, instead looking around Thor’s room curiously, Thor nervously standing there, arms behind his back, waiting for his father to acknowledge him. At last Odin did, surveying his son with his one eye, as if sizing him up. Thor braced himself, fearing that a scolding may be at hand, but none came.

“This feud with your brother bothers you, does it not?”

Thor was caught off guard by the question. He hadn’t truly given the issue much thought, attempting to push the whole set of events from his thoughts as though they had never happened. But he knew, deep down, that he still worried for Loki, that despite his hatred and anger and confusion he was still concerned for his brother. Loki was clearly troubled by things Thor was unaware of, and for reasons he could not comprehend; it was that uncertainty that prevented him from reaching out to Loki and his cesspool of problems. How was he supposed to fix his brother’s woes if he could not understand them?

Despite his attempts to hide these worries in wine and women, he knew bits must have shown through, manifesting in pained looks when Loki’s name was mentioned in conversation, or in slow, heavy footsteps as he passed his brother’s door.

“A bit,” Thor answered. His father gave him a skeptical look. He hadn’t let this fight get to him _that_ much, had he?

“I don’t want your brother’s problems to become a burden for you as well,” Odin said. “You have other things to be thinking of instead of fretting over your brother.”

Thor coughed. “Aren’t you worried about Loki at all, Father? He hasn’t left his room in days.”

“No,” Odin replied. “Your brother invites this sort of trouble upon himself.” He glanced briefly at Thor. “Don’t concern yourself too much. He will be fine.”

For a long, heart-wrenching second Thor wanted to tell his father everything that had happened. He wanted to willingly divulge the details of their incest, of the way Loki had lied to him and the argument that had followed, of how Loki had come to him and begged forgiveness, offering to remedy the situation with sexual gratification.

But he couldn’t.

Thor pursed his lips, frowning. “You really believe so?”

Odin nodded, but did not bother to make eye contact. “I know so.” Thor sighed, willing himself to trust his father. Odin had wisdom far greater than Thor’s ever would be, and he had sacrificed a great deal to gain his understanding. If his father knew this, then to Thor it was as good as fact.

“Your brother is prone to fits of emotion,” Odin continued. “He is willing to let his heart rule his mind, to let instinct win out against reason. And it is for that reason that you are my heir, and not him.”

Thor bit his lip. He had nothing to say to this, having known that the throne would fall to him for years now. Loki knew, as well, and he supposed Loki had very well known the day that his father pulled him off the training field and snatched the wooden practice sword from his hands. But for however disappointed Loki must have been, he never showed it, instead thriving on encouraging his brother, aiding and abetting him in any way he could. Sure, there were pranks and the occasional misleading, but Thor knew Loki had to be jealous, regardless of how well he hid it. He couldn’t deny his brother the right to be jealous, either, not when he had been forced to live in Thor’s shadow.

Odin stepped toward Thor, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Worry yourself no more,” he said, giving Thor a wise, reassuring smile. “If your brother has not come to his senses by the end of the week and shown his face once more, I will speak to him.”

Thor nodded, knowing full well that a lecture from Odin would be the last thing that Loki needed. Having their father call Loki a coward for hiding in his room would be the final nail in the coffin for his brother’s sunken spirits, and Thor feared the ramifications of such an event. He had come to the realization long ago that the only thing that would draw Loki from his isolation was Thor’s forgiveness, was Thor’s acceptance of Loki once more as his brother and comrade.

And so, he began to toy with the idea of benevolence.

\---

Loneliness had always been Loki’s greatest foe.

There were times in his life when he needed the seclusion, and at those moments he would seclude himself, draw away from the world for a few days and sort things out, but this was a different kind of loneliness.

This was a forced exile.

Without Thor, all of Loki’s social ties were effectively cut. He was not the social, outgoing maverick his brother was, and thus he often relied on Thor, socializing through extension. Thor’s friends became his sort-of friends, Thor was the catalyst for Loki’s conversations at banquets, Thor was the one who would sweet-talk a maid into socializing with Loki.

Some did still come to see him. Baldr came on several occasions, providing brief snippets of conversation and updates. Frigga had visited him once, and Loki had spent the whole time peppering her with questions about Thor, trying not to sound too distressed. Loki never actively sought anyone out, for he knew that his company was rarely ever desired. Most of the other Aesir distrusted or disliked him, and Loki was forced to admit with a heavy heart that they had serious reasons to do so. But the visits quickly petered off, and Loki was quickly relegated to the background, forgotten once more. He did occasionally foray out into the palace, sometimes even onto the grounds for fresh air, but he only did so in the dead of night when he wouldn’t be seen. He did not want to encounter any prying eyes that he was unprepared for, especially those of Thor’s friends or his father.

Loki sighed and rolled over on his bed. He drew his knees slightly to his chest, like a child, curled up into a protective ball, and wished that he could go back a week and undo his actions, prevent the schism between him and his brother, avert the strife and torture it would cause him.

But with all his learning, all his magic, all his tricks, Loki could do no such thing. He was doomed to his own fate.

He sighed again and buried his face in his arms, shielding himself from his room, and by extension, the hostile world around him. He yearned to go back to simpler times, when he and Thor were simply boys, when sex and drink and violence had been things that existed only in the conversations around them.

There was a rift now, between him and his beloved sibling, one Loki had put there, and one he could not fix. Loki squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying not to cry even though he was the sole occupant in his bedroom.

He just wanted to be noticed, to be treasured, to be _missed_.

He wanted to be loved.

 _Thor is angry with him. Furious, in fact, and he has denounced Loki before the court. The insult, while it holds no political weight, hurts worse than any wound Loki can imagine, and he is barely able to keep his composure before those assembled._

 _When the excitement has died down, he flees to his bedroom, sitting in a small, sobbing ball until he hears the door creak open, followed by the comforting, solid sounds of his father’s footsteps._

 _He comforts Loki for a long time before he speaks. His words are reassuring, and they temporarily chase away Loki’s fears, but he can still feel them lingering, circling like wolves around a carcass._

 _“You know that I will always love you, don’t you, Loki?” his father asks, nudging Loki’s chin up with his finger. Loki’s eyes dart sideways, his vision still misty from his tears—even though he is supposedly a man now, he can’t help but cry, especially now._

 _“No matter what happens,” Odin continues, “I will always love you.” Suddenly his breath is at Loki’s neck, and Loki knows he can refuse him, he can choose to leave, can choose to suffer the punishment his father would mete out instead of this. He is strong enough, he has enough willpower to decide for himself what he wants, but inside he is still crippled, still starved for affection, and so he merely closes his eyes as his father presses his lips to Loki’s neck._

 _“I know, Father,” he whispers, and Odin’s kisses become harder, more urgent, his teeth grazing pale, delicate skin. Loki is not a boy anymore, and he knows just how wrong this situation is; he is no longer deluded by it, no longer confused and mystified by sexuality, no longer duped by his father’s words. But he lets it continue, because this way, he knows at least his father loves him._

 _At least this pain carries the veneer of affection._

 _His father never kisses him on the mouth. It’s too intimate, too tender a gesture for him, but he is willing to kiss Loki other places, and he does so as he pulls his teenaged son from his clothing. Loki suddenly feels very naked, very exposed as he is laid on his large, soft bed by his father, but the feeling passes as he helps Odin out of his clothing as well._

 _They’ve done this before. Many, many times before, in this very bed, this very room. It’s a familiar sensation, hot skin on his own, the way his father’s body weighs and pins him down, the feel of a hard cock against his thigh._

 _Loki is turned over by strong, confident hands, lying on his stomach now, and fingers pull at his hips, urging him to lift them. He does, groaning softly, and when his father takes him, it is gentle, almost too affectionate, as if Loki were a lover and not a plaything._

 _With his face pressed to the sheets, it is easy for him to drift off into fantasy. Suddenly, it is not his father’s hips jarring against him, but Thor’s rutting into him, using him for his pleasure. The hands holding him in place are not Odin’s scarred, worn ones, but Thor’s, with his nimble, calloused digits. They are coupling because they both want it, and it is by choice that they are brought together, not by force or by coercion._

 _Loki moans and spills his seed onto the sheets beneath him, and as his eyes open, the illusion he has so carefully constructed comes shattering down like a castle made of glass. Now he is just a boy, being fucked in his own bed by his father._

 _He can’t bring himself to be ashamed. Perhaps later, when all of this is settled and his brother is once again on speaking terms with him. But right now, this is the only way Loki can be loved, and he cannot turn it away._

His fingers tore through his hair, yanking roughly at the dark strands, as if he meant to pull them out. Sniffling, he drew his arms from his face, and slowly sat up on the bed.

Thor had turned his back on him. So had the whole damn realm of Asgard.

But perhaps there was one person, _one person_ who still loved him.

Loki pushed himself to his feet, stumbling around until he found his boots and pulled them on, fingers shaky and hard to control. His clothes were a wreck, and he tried to straighten himself out in the mirror before leaving, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt and slicking back his hair. It was a shallow, temporary fix, but it only had to last him a few minutes as he trekked through the palace.

None of the guards noticed him as he slipped silently toward his father’s room. His mother was almost certainly gone—Frigga spent very little time in his father’s bedchamber outside of evenings. But his father divided his time between the throne room and his lavish, golden bedchamber, and Loki was fairly sure he would find him there.

He slid through the thick doors with minimal effort, the interior of the room lit with a dim, warm glow. Loki could make out a figure sitting at the edge of the bed, and he took a step toward the center of the room.

“Father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More canon notes…
> 
> Norse mythology buffs will notice that I’ve retold another story in this segment, the Thrymskidva. It’s one of my favorite tales out of the Poetic Edda, and I knew I had to include it in this fic, albeit with some minor changes. Baldr is alive and well, and a son of Frigga and Odin, and I plan to keep him so for this fic (much as he is in the comics).
> 
> I also want to thank the many readers, commenters and kudos-givers who have left their mark on this fic. I never thought it would get this many hits or be this popular, but it’s greatly encouraged me to finish this fic, and I want to thank all of you for supporting me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all the credit goes to my lovely beta Moiraine, who I dragged kicking and screaming into this fandom. She's working on a lovely Thor/Loki whipping boy fill right now- check it out, I absolutely adore it.

Thor had never been particularly skilled in dealing with matters of the heart and head.

Usually, he ignored them until they either resolved themselves or were fixed by parties far wiser than himself. Occasionally a problem could be resolved through physical intimidation, or by cracking a few skulls, and Thor was quick to do so if an opportunity for such action presented itself.

But he didn’t think that Asgard would take kindly to fratricide, no matter how unpopular Loki was.

And so, Thor had decided to seek out the advice of his father on how best to approach Loki. He would be deliberately vague in describing the argument if asked, but what Thor was seeking was counsel on how to approach Loki. Perhaps a minor apology would be necessary for his prolonged shunning of Loki, but Thor knew that he wouldn’t have to make true amends. The moment he set foot in Loki’s room and paid his brother any mind, Loki would instantly forgive him and wipe away all memory of Thor’s wrongs against him.

It had always been that way. Loki instantly absolved Thor of any grievances at the first sign on contrition, eager to simply forget them and move forward.  He was not this way with any others. Loki nursed grudges over minor slights, and Thor always found it odd, and a little weak, that he should be the sole exception.

Thor took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back as he rounded the last corner to his father’s bedchamber. The door was open a crack, and although the interior was dim, nearly dark, Thor could hear voices from within.

His father was with someone. Thor froze like a rabbit, just beyond the doorway, and strained to listen. The voices slowly became clearer, and Thor now tried to match the sounds to a familiar face.

“Yes?” Odin said, impatient.

“I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t want to come.” Thor recognized the voice at once. But why was Loki here, speaking to Odin? Had their father summoned him? Or had he gone of his own volition?

Loki coughed, small and weak. “But I…I _need_ ….” His speech trailed off, and Thor heard only the frenetic, dampened tattoo of his heartbeat.

His father gave a quick, “Hmm?” and then Thor heard the sounds of shuffling, of clothes rustling, and he wondered what was happening inside the dark room.

At last, Loki breathed, “ _This,_ ” and his voice was high, breathy and eager.

More shuffling ensued, beginning with a muted _thud,_ the sound of flesh striking flesh, followed by the sound of footsteps (presumably Loki’s) scuffling irregularly on the floor. There was a shocked gasp from one of the parties, and Thor assumed it was his brother due to the pitch.

“Father, _please,_ ” Loki begged. He was panting between words, frantic and hopelessly desperate, nearing the edge of sobbing. “I _need_ this, you don’t understand—”

“Silence, Loki,” his father responded calmly. The chaotic sound of boots scrabbling on marble floor followed, and Thor peeked around the corner. Loki was now draped before his father, resting in a small heap, his head placed on his father’s knee like a loyal hound. Loki’s hands sought one of Odin’s, stroking it tenderly while he looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Please,” Loki whispered. “Take me into your bed, like you did when I was a child.”

Thor felt a pang of guilt stab at him. Perhaps his brother was more innocent than Thor had colored him. He remembered being a small boy and clambering into their parent’s bed after a string of bad dreams, and now that Loki was effectively living a waking nightmare, perhaps he needed the same childish comfort.

“No, Loki.”

Loki’s face twisted in anger for a fleeting moment, before shifting once more into distress. “ _Use_ me, then. Take your pleasure with me, I don’t _care,_ but _please—_ ”

Thor could scarcely believe what he’d just heard. He hadn’t been wrong to paint Loki as deranged, for that was what his brother truly _was._

“Silence!”

Odin’s words were punctuated by a thick, hard slap delivered squarely to Loki’s face, the sound of which alone was enough to make Thor flinch. His brother reeled, but did not fall, making a choked, awful noise from the shock.

“I do not want you, Loki,” Odin spat.

Loki’s panting turned into heavy, tortured sobs, each more wretched than the last, and he put his arms out to steady himself as his body gave way. “No,” he whispered, his voice bewildered and anguished. “Please, Father, you can’t mean that.”

Odin stared at him, unmoved.

“I was _yours_ for _years,_ ” Loki said, empty and broken, his words more question than statement. “I still _am,_ Father, _please…._ ”

Thor held his breath, trying to fit Loki’s last sentence, this latest morsel of information, into the morbid puzzle his brother had become. It didn’t seem to fit, no matter what angle Thor looked at it from.

“You shame yourself, Loki.”

Loki’s cry thereafter was so anguished Thor thought he had been struck again. His first primal instinct was to rush in and comfort his brother, but the abhorrence he now regarded him with instantly outweighed any compassion he might have possessed for Loki.

His brother was a letch and a pervert. He was sick; he needed help. Thor knew that, and he supposed his father now did, too. First Loki had bedded Thor, betraying his brother’s trust and seducing him when Thor was too inebriated to comprehend the situation, and now Loki was propositioning their _father._

Thor’s stomach felt tight and nauseous as he watched his brother turn to Odin once more in a mock display of intimacy, his hand running along the inside of his father’s leg for a second before Odin slapped it away.

"Leave, Loki,” he ordered coldly, and Loki rose to his feet and fled, his footsteps light and quick.

Thor was still dazed. He wanted to wake up, to find that this whole, awful scenario his life had become was just a nightmare, just a dream that had taken a bad, dark turn. He would wake up, and find Loki, and Loki would be _normal,_ not this…this sexual deviant. He would find Loki, and they would be _brothers_ again, like they had beebefore, brothers who cared for one another, protected one another, _trusted_ one another.

But the sinking feeling in his chest told him that this was not so.

Suddenly anger filled the void that confusion, that revulsion, had left in Thor’s soul. He hated Loki. He hated his brother, he hated everything that he was, that he stood for, that he had become. He hated everything he had caused, everything he had done.

Thor would have struck the wall, right then and there, but his father was in the next room, and to do so would have surely given away his presence and the fact that he had been witness to Loki’s warped requests. After taking a long minute to hold onto his anger, to solidify it and secure its permanent existence, Thor found the will to move.

With fury burning in his soul brighter than the sons of Muspell, Thor set off to find Loki.

 

\---

Loki found the Vault deserted, as always.

He dismissed the two guards outside with as much authority as he could muster in his melancholy state, and they went, not exactly keen on the prospect, but unwilling to defy the express order of a prince, even if Loki _was_ the unpopular one. Once they had disappeared from sight, Loki slipped into the Vault, pushing the door nearly shut behind him.

It was bright inside, brighter than the other rooms of the palace, and the sterile, white light was a welcome change from the soft gold glow elsewhere. He took the steps slowly, as if scaling a mountain and not a simple staircase, each footstep carefully and deliberately placed as he made his way to the bottom.

Once on the marble floor of the Vault, he stood for a long moment before moving forward, eying treasures left and right as he moved. They were testaments to Odin’s rule, some given as gifts to the wise, respected ruler, others taken as trophies from a vanquished foe.

Loki was such a trophy.

He sniffed, pausing for a long second to fight off the crippling depression that had come to rule him, before he took a few more steps toward the brightly lit back wall and what lay just before it.

Resting on its pedestal, the Casket was as beautiful as ever, translucent, glowing blue edged in black stone, housing swirls of power that Loki had never been able to fully comprehend. But he loved to watch them, animated and random, for there was something comforting about the sight.

He sat before it, a wide-eyed, winsome boy of years past perplexed by the artifact in front of him.

 _The pain is terrible and unfamiliar, and Loki cannot help but whimper despite his father’s orders to stop. He cries out toward the end, when his father’s thrusts become too much for his small body to handle, and the pain and humiliation force his eyes shut as he begins to cry._

 _He is still a boy, but his father commands him to be silent. Loki does his best, but it is not enough, and he finds his face pushed into the pillows to muffle him._

 _When his father is finished with him, Loki is too confused and hollow to cry, his soul drained from him, leaving him a vacant, unoccupied shell._

 _He rolls onto his side, gazing vacantly at his own hands while his father redresses. Eventually a bit of breath returns to him, and he whispers “Why?” His voice is small and betrayed._

 _Odin stares at him for a long second. “Because of_ what _you are.”_

 _Loki doesn’t understand. He doesn’t care, doesn’t give a damn about_ what _he is. All he wants is to know why him and not Thor, and then to sleep and make all of this go away, return to the days when his life was perfect, before his father began_ this.

 _But he is dragged out of bed by a thick, scarred hand wrapped around his bony, delicate arm, forced to dress quickly, and then led down through the palace, to the Vault. As a child, he had played here with Thor under their father’s watchful, prideful eye, both children fascinated by the mystical, powerful objects around them._

 _Now Loki is afraid, afraid of what his father might do to him down here, in private and surrounded by dangerous, destructive totems. Yet his father simply leads him to the Casket and compels him to touch it._

 _Loki cannot; he is too mystified by the etchings in its surface and the swirls inside it. His father forcefully grabs his hand and places it on the side, and Loki gasps and struggles, but to no avail—his hand is kept firmly in place. And he watches with a sinking, awful horror as his hand turns blue, a bright, demanding blue, one that Loki thinks is the worst color he has ever seen._

 _He is not Aesir._

 _Loki knows that in an instant. He is something awful, something he has never seen, but has heard stories of, a monster that the Aesir fear and despise. Suddenly Loki is filled with self-hated and loathing; he is a monstrosity, a beast, not one of these beautiful gods he is surrounded by. He deserves to be cast out into the wilds and left to die._

 _When his arm is nearly all the way blue, his father releases his small hand, and Loki pulls it away as though he has been burned. His panic is slightly assuaged when his arm begins to return to pink, but it is miniscule compared to the weight of knowledge he now possesses._

 _“That is why, Loki,” his father says, and Loki looks up at him, frenetically rubbing his blue hand. “You are Laufey’s son, not mine, taken from the temple as Jotunheim fell. You are a jotun, not an Aesir, despite your appearance.”_

 _Each word cuts like a knife. Loki is scrambling to put the pieces together as his world shatters before him. Thor, his beloved brother, is not his brother. Baldr, the tiny baby whom Loki adores, is not his sibling. Frigga, the mother who treasures him like a gem, is not his mother._

 _Loki’s head is spinning, and he sits down, abruptly, his legs unable to bear the strain of supporting him any longer. He flinches as a sudden pain knifes its way through him, a painful reminder of the more personal retribution his father had extracted on the jotuns not more than an hour ago. “No,” he whispers. This can’t be true, it simply_ can’t, _he is Loki Odinson, one of the princes of Asgard—_

 _No, he tells himself. You are Loki Laufeyson now, imposter and enemy of Asgard._

 _Odin leaves him there, in the Vault, to think about what he has learned, and Loki spends hours watching the swirls in the Casket, silently weeping tears for the monstrosity that he now knows himself to be._

“Loki.”

Thor’s voice itself was comforting, but his tone was utterly hostile. Loki could not bear to face him right now, and without turning around he murmured, “Thor, please go.”

“No,” Thor responded sternly, his tone emulating their father’s. Instinctual terror flashed through Loki for a brief second—Thor was so much like their father at times—but he masked it, and shifted his head to peer at Thor from over his shoulder.

“Please, Thor,” Loki said. There was no fight in his voice, only tiredness and despair. “I just want to be alone, surely this can wait—”

“No, Loki, it can’t,” Thor retorted, his tone final, and Loki flinched, abruptly falling silent. Thor’s voice halved itself in volume when he spoke again. Now he was confused, more reserved, his words almost breathy. “W-What is wrong with you, brother?”

“Thor?”

Thor was searching for words. He lacked his brother’s silver tongue and his father’s wisdom, and he tended to strike with his fists before attempting any kind of diplomacy, but now he had to, and Thor was still struggling to see past the red of his anger.

“First me, and now you drag _Father_ into your…your sick little games? What drives you, Loki? What makes you _do_ these things?”

“Thor, you don’t—” Loki paused, at a loss for words as well. What point was there in trying to shield Thor from the truth _now_? “You don’t understand. He… _did_ things to me, when we were—”

“You _lie,_ Loki,” Thor spat. He would not stand to hear his father’s name slandered in such a manner. “You are so willing to _lie_ and drag others down with you rather than admit your mistakes, admit when you have wronged us all.”

“I’m not lying!” Loki yelled back, suddenly imbued with enough rage to match Thor’s. The stark change in demeanor startled Thor, catching him off guard, and Loki seized upon his brother’s momentary weakness. “Just because you are too naïve, too much of an oaf to—”

“And you are a liar and a twisted pervert!” Thor returned. Loki’s face blanked with shock for a brief moment, until he found his anger once more, holding on to it like it was the only thing that mattered. In a way, it was. He rose to his feet, nearly as tall as his brother, and stood before him, defiant, ready to stand up to whatever names Thor would call him.

Loki laughed, high and nervous, a reaction to Thor’s poor choice of words. “I’ma pervert? _I’m a pervert?_ I’m what your father _made_ me.”

“He _made_ you into a prince of Asgard,” Thor retorted. “He loved you and he gave you _everything_.  Whatever is wrong with you comes from you and you alone, Loki—”

Thor was silenced by peals of Loki’s raucous, frightening laughter. There was an unsettling frenzy in Loki’s eyes, a manic, hysterical fire burning in his irises, and his cackling was a perfect parallel, frenetic, wild bursts of chortling. That _Thor_ thought this was his fault, that Loki had been _born_ this way, or that he was solely to blame, was something that Loki found so ignorant, so narrow-minded, so typically _Thor_ that he had to laugh.

And he laughed because he had finally run out of tears.

“Stop laughing,” Thor said, uneasy. His right hand clenched into a fist as Loki continued to snicker, beginning to laugh so hard there were tears in his eyes. “I said, stop laughing.”

Thor’s words were lost on Loki’s ears. He was too busy savoring the irony of this situation, enjoying the depth of Thor’s obliviousness. He had thought his brother somewhat lacking in the powers of observation, but for Thor to have been _this_ blind was nearly incomprehensible.

And then, Thor snapped. “Stop!” he barked, and suddenly his knuckles collided with Loki’s delicate jaw. Pain exploded in Loki’s face, sparking in rivulets up into his cheekbone and behind his eye, snaking down into the tendons of his neck, and abruptly silencing him. Loki was knocked to the ground by the sheer force of Thor’s blow, his teeth cutting into his cheek, blood filling his mouth, warm and salty on his tongue.

His knees hit the ground first, and then his torso, his arms fumbling to try and brace his sideways fall, but he still cracked his head on the floor. He coughed, watching the gray marble suddenly become colored with flecks of his blood, and slowly picked his head up, looking at his brother. Thor was looking at his fist, as if unsure of what he had done. Loki smiled, depraved, and snorted.

“You’re just like him,” he said, bemused. “Just like Father.”

Thor glowered at him. Loki pushed himself upright, sitting with his legs underneath him, and he quickly wiped a thin trail of blood from his chin as his lips curled into a smile.

“Do you want me like he did, Thor?”

The alarmed, disgusted look on his brother’s face was _priceless._ Loki let his hand drift to his collar, pulling it open to expose his neck as he tilted his head back.

“Do you want me on my back, mewling as you fuck me? Or do you want me on my stomach, so you can just use me for your pleasure? He always preferred that, I don’t think he liked to look at my face when he was raping me.” Loki slid up onto his knees, resting on his heels, and he ran his hands down his torso, lowering his eyes as he did so.

“Loki, stop this,” Thor warned, his voice low and…scared, something Loki didn’t think he’d ever heard before.

“Why, Thor?” he retorted. “You should have heard him _moan_ when he took me. Like I was the best _whore_ in Asgard. I suppose by the time he was done with me I was. He taught me well.” He plucked at the expensive cloth of his clothes. “And look at the coin he paid me in.”

His hands stopped on his thighs, ghosting over his groin, as if he were afraid to touch. He glanced up at Thor, satisfied with his brother’s horrified gaze, transfixed on Loki’s vulgar display.

“He was my first, Thor, did you know that?” Loki continued, skimming his hand along the inside of his thigh. “My only, really. I couldn’t bed anyone else after the things he had done to me.”

Thor shook his head, frightened and saddened in the same breath. Loki had a terrible urge to continue to goad him on, to continue this obscene show for him, and burn any of the few remaining good memories Thor had of him, scorch them beyond recognition, until all that was left was the charred, hideous corpse of Thor’s once-treasured brother.

They stood there for a long moment, neither moving, the only sound in the room being Loki’s ragged, congested panting and Thor’s tempered, brisk breathing. Loki stared his brother in the eye, waiting on a reaction of any kind, but Thor’s gaze was fixed elsewhere while he mulled over what Loki had said.

And then, at last, he spoke.

“Whatever illness has taken you, Loki, whatever demon has possessed you,” he began, his words harsh and unforgiving, “I hope you can return to the man you once were, the man I knew as my brother, and not this…this _monster._ ”

Loki rose slowly to his feet and took half a step backwards.  “I was never your brother, Thor,” he said, bitterness stringing his words together. “We were raised under the same roof, but I don’t share your blood.” He slipped behind the Casket, placing his hands tentatively above it, hovering there, waiting for the right moment.

“We don’t even share the same race,” he said, almost snidely, and Loki chose that moment to touch the very edges of the Casket, feeling the icy chill creep through his skin. He knew his skin was changing color, but he couldn’t bring himself to watch the transformation take place, instead locking eyes with his brother as Thor looked on in shock and horror.

When he felt the cold in his shoulders, Loki pulled his hands away, letting them fall limply to his sides. “So you’re right, Thor,” he continued. “I _am_ a monster.” He moved from behind the Casket, returning to stand before it, separating it from his brother.

Thor’s face was twisted further in confusion, clearly unable to comprehend what he had just been told. His expression morphed into revulsion as Loki crept toward him, Thor taking two quick strides backwards to put more distance between them.

“Who…who _are_ you?” Thor finally gasped out, exasperated.

Loki didn’t have an answer to his question. He gave up trying after a few seconds, too consumed with swirling rage at his brother’s blindness all these years, at his condemning attitude _now,_ now when Loki needed his support more than ever. Loki had lost himself the first night his father had come to claim him—he’d been broken then and  had never found all the pieces to put himself back together.

Thor lingered for a long moment, surveying Loki with the utmost animosity in his eyes. Eventually, the hatred seemed too much for him to bear and Loki watched Thor’s red cloak slip through the doorway without hesitation.

Loki wanted to scream, but his voice was gone, just like Thor.

He turned back to the Casket, lifting it from its pedestal without ceremony, and threw it to the ground with all of the strength he had left in him. It didn’t shatter like he wanted, but the sight of it, estranged from its home, from its rightful place, was satisfying enough.

 

\---

Loki had never been possessed by such anger in his life.

It was something utterly primal, a rage he had long suppressed and denied, one harbored against Odin and Frigga and Thor, against those who had hurt him and those who had stood by and _let it happen,_ who had ignored the signs, disregarded his plight, and left him to fend for himself.

Frigga had known. Thor had known. Perhaps the picture had not been perfectly clear, but Loki was certain they had understood that something sinister was underway.

And so, when Loki flipped over one of the ornate lacquered tables in his room, sending its contents flying, he did so with all of them in mind.

The dresser was the next to go. Loki’s bony hands grabbed at the upper left corner, tilting the thing until it fell over, splintering along the side. The whole thing began to split, bowing in the center, but bound at each end by the top and bottom, and Loki broke one of the legs off of the black table, using it to further smash the dresser into smithereens, his clothes spilling out of it like the innards of a fallen beast.

He tore most of those with his hands, shredding them into ribbons, leaving a trail of destruction as he worked his way toward the bookshelves lining the front of his room. He pulled down row after row of books, tearing some of his beloved tomes at the spine, ripping pages out of others. At last, when the shelves were mostly empty, Loki anchored himself to the floor and pulled them down, watching as the beautiful, ornate bookshelves were quickly reduced to splinters.

The bureau doors were the next to be flung open, Loki taking one completely off the hinges, using it to beat the side of the bureau until it collapsed. He picked his clothes from the sagging interior, ripping those to unrecognizable scraps, littering the floor around him with rags. He tore the other door off and continued beating the bureau until it was a mangled lump of wood standing on four tiny feet, at which point he grabbed the side and flipped it, smashing out the bottom.

One of the lower drawers flopped open as its rails were broken away, and Loki’s leather knife holster clattered to the floor. One of the knives slipped forth, catching Loki’s eye as it gleamed temptingly, singing for him to touch it, hold it, _use it._

Loki stopped amidst his warpath and bent down, drawing the knife further from its sheath, running a nimble, delicate finger down the edge. It was sharp, he could feel that, but he had to press his fingers with some force before they came away bearing streaks of red.

He rubbed his fingers together, smearing the blood curiously between them, as if in disbelief. As an Aesir, he bled crimson, but what color was his blood when his skin was blue and his eyes the color of rubies?

What did he have to lose at this point? He had alienated his brother, the only person left in all of Asgard who might have stood by him.

Loki’s vision swam, and he steadied himself as he shakily made his way over to the bed, collapsing upon it. His grace and poise had been stripped away by the brief taste of sheer raw, physical power he had gotten by systematically destroying the contents of his room, and Loki found his movements almost too fast, too dramatic for his liking now.

He turned the knife over in his hands, twisting it in familiar patterns, watching his fingers dance over the blade and handle with practiced ease. It would be _so easy,_ he reasoned. A quick, hard press at his throat and a stroke across…or perhaps a clean stab to the stomach, and then a twist…

And then he would be free.

Trembling hands brought the knife to his throat, and he pressed it to the left side of his neck, swallowing thickly and feeling his Adam’s apple graze the edge. Carefully, he deliberately applied more pressure, increasing it until he felt the edge of the knife break his skin, blood bubbling up, hot on his flesh as it ran down to his collar in a brilliant scarlet trail.

He was panting now, nervous beyond reason, willing himself to just press a _little_ harder, keep the knife a _little_ steadier, and then, without warning, he drew it across his own throat.

There was no pain.

There was the burning, wet gush of blood, running down the front of his shirt, and Loki felt dizzy in seconds. He was vaguely aware of his body falling off the bed, hitting the hard floor with a solid, fleshy _thump,_ but his body registered no hurt from it, no ache in the spots where his limbs slammed into the marble.

He had a distant recollection of the thick, choking sound he made trying to draw in air, his body still determined to make a valiant effort for survival despite his mind’s machinations. Loki thought it was the most awful noise he had ever heard, the last gasp of a dying man, slipping away in a pool of his own blood on the floor.

As the world began to go black, Loki found himself once more on the bed, knife at his throat, quivering from head to toe. He could feel the damp patch in his collar where the blood from the nick in his throat had soaked it, but there was no slice through his jugular, no sea of blood staining his clothes.

It had all been an illusion.

Loki Lie-Smith, master of the falsehood, had managed to delude even himself.

He drew the knife away from his throat, sitting there in shock. He wanted to die, he really did. This world held nothing for him anymore, nothing but more anguish, strife and shame.

Yet Loki was too afraid of pain, too afraid of the physicality of passing, to take his own life in such a violent manner.

He lay down on the bed, still holding the knife like a sacred treasure. Loki supposed he would lie there until he died from hunger. It would be a coward’s death, slow and torturous, but it was his punishment for being too weak, too faint of heart to take his life into his own hands.

With his bade clutched to him like a child’s precious doll, Loki fell asleep praying for death.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love goes to my "child abuse muse," Moiraine. Go read her Thor fill right now, I'm seriously in love with her good-parents!Odin and Frigga.

Thor was determined to sever all ties with Loki.

The next morning, he renounced Loki, publically, and the shocked gazes he received from his friends and family made him question his decision. Of course, everyone around him pressed for details of their argument, and Thor was tempted to give them and expose his brother for the depraved loon he was, but that would involve admitting that he had lain with Loki, and Thor didn’t want that slander upon his name.

There were, of course, the few who begged for reconciliation. Baldr was at the forefront—seeing his two brothers fight had been a strain on him since the beginning of their feud. Frigga also worried, and she voiced her concerns to Thor on more than one occasion, but he would hear none of it. Odin said nothing, but his irritated glances spoke tomes about his feelings on the matter.

Thor would have none of it, however.

Others asked him to forgive Loki on the basis that he might need his brother someday, either as counsel or for other royal matters. Thor retorted that he had a perfectly good sibling in Baldr, and that Loki the deceiver had no place in any kind of regal Asgardian affairs.

Thor even considered leaving the palace for a time, perhaps spending a few months abroad, in Niflheim or Jotunheim on an expedition. But Loki had vanished from the halls, and Thor found it easy to forget he existed, so he remained in Asgard, instead busying himself with whatever he could find. He tried to never let his mind rest, knowing full well that if he did so, his thoughts would inevitably turn to Loki.

Late at night presented the greatest problems. Unless Thor was so exhausted that he fell asleep near instantly, his mind was left to its own devices and tended to wander. Thor did not want to think of his brother, so he often stayed awake until his vision was blurred from weariness, occupying his mind with any task he could. He would keep his friends out much later than usual, meander the halls after hours, or stay up far too long with a book (and, oh, how Thor hated books), until his eyes burned with want of sleep and his limbs felt like lead.

On the fifth night after his argument with Loki, however, sleep eluded Thor. He had tried all of his usual tactics—wandering around the palace, reading one of the few books he could tolerate—but nothing worked, and he lay staring at his ceiling in the darkness, sighing in frustration.

He shut his eyes again and tried to recall what he had done in his younger days to fight off insomnia. The instances were rare, but Thor found one and settled on it, furrowing his brow in concentration.

 _He’s still restless._

 _It’s been hours now, it has to be, and Thor snorts and draws the covers tighter around him. He isn’t cold, not in the slightest, but wadding the sheets and furs covering his bed into his fists distracts him, at least for a moment._

 _For someone who never thinks enough during the day, Thor now cannot stop his rampant thoughts._

 _His mind continues to race, with memories of the well-spent day and thoughts of the morrow. Thor rarely worries, but when he does so it is now, and he struggles to chase concerns for Loki, who has become so skittish as of late, for Sif, who struggles with the doubts of others, for his mother Frigga, who seems anxious and tense nowadays, from his thoughts._

 _It’s a fruitless attempt, and Thor snorts, cursing the discord between his tired body and his energetic mind as he flings the covers off himself. He swings his legs over, bare feet hitting chilly marble, and sits, rubbing his eyes, which sting from exhaustion. Eventually, he wills himself to rise, taking several uneven, ungainly strides to the door. He fumbles with it for a second before stumbling out into the dim light of the hall. Thor has no particular destination in mind, only a vague hope that a quick jaunt around the palace will tire him out that extra bit and silence his rambling thoughts._

 _Thor arbitrarily takes a left and decides that he’ll choose alternating directions (if given the choice) until he reaches either a dead end or his room once more. He takes a right at the next hallway, and heads down it, following the hall as it bends sharply._

 _Thor hears footsteps, and a guard draws into view as he rounds the corner, but he pays him no mind. The guard dips his head in respect, even at this hour, and quickly continues on his rounds. Thor keeps meandering through the halls, yawning sleepily as he nears the end of the hall, heading into the eastern wing of the palace. It houses the great halls, the kitchens, the throne room, and is the life center of the palace during the day, but in the dead of night, even the air is still._

 _Thor slips into the connector, and there is the instinctual, boyish urge to run down it, to fly down the walls flanked by massive suits of armor, unmoving, intimidating statues that have always fascinated Thor. But he stops, because walking dazed in the middle of the connector, with his back turned to him, is Loki._

 _Thor’s footsteps have never been light. As he thunders across the floor, however, Loki does not acknowledge him, does not look over his shoulder, does not perk up, and it is not until Thor is touching his shoulder that he is dragged from his stupor. Loki flinches, and his eyes go wide with fear for a moment, a look Thor has seen on deer and other prey before he quickly ends them._

 _“Loki?” he asks, placing his hands at his brother’s shoulders. Loki takes a long second to glance around and realize that it’s Thor before the anxiety eases momentarily from his eyes. Thor frowns at his brother’s state—Loki bears a bruise on his cheek, one that looks even more severe due to his pale skin. Thor can see that all of Loki’s clothes are in disarray, his shirt wrinkled and torn at the hem, his boots only partially laced, the knots rushed._

 _Loki blinks, still somewhat spellbound, and Thor grips him tighter._

 _“Loki, what happened?”_

 _Loki’s brows snap together in confusion and then dismay. “Nothing,” he says, voice barely above a whisper._

 _“Why are you out here at this hour?”_

 _Loki squirms from his grasp. “I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, turning his face to hide the bruise. He exposes more of his neck, and Thor catches a glimpse of more purple-green, of what might be another bruise, but Loki tilts his head down and it is gone from Thor’s sight._

 _They stand there, both unsure of what to say, Thor taking in Loki’s disheveled appearance while Loki does his best to subtly straighten himself out. “I’m going back to bed,” he says, eyeing Thor, who is transfixed by his brother’s sorry state and wondering what has caused it._

 _When Loki steps away, it is with a crippling limp that lasts until he straightens himself up, clenching his hands into fists, and walks normally, albeit stiffly. Thor remains rooted to the spot, watching Loki stride slowly away, and a part of him wants to rush to his brother’s side, help him stagger back to his room, protect him like when they were younger. But he knows Loki would push him away now, determined not to accept help of any kind, especially not from Thor. Thor knows Loki is jealous of him, for reasons he does not understand, but it is this jealousy that, coupled with Loki’s pride, prevents him from accepting Thor’s help, even when he needs it._

 _And so Thor lets Loki leave the hall._

 _Suddenly he is tired, both body and soul, and his mind shuts down, too disturbed by the image of his disheveled brother. Thor waits for a long moment, until he is sure that Loki is gone from the halls, and then he departs for his own room, his heart as heavy as his footsteps._

Thor turned onto his side. The memory was unsettling, and Thor was sure it was false—he didn’t know how powerful Loki’s magic was, but he did not put it past his brother to mess with Thor’s memories like this, altering them in some way, if he possessed the ability to do so.

But the rational part of Thor’s mind knew such things had to be nigh impossible. Loki’s powers lay in altering perception, not in memory, but he made a mental note to ask the next practitioner of magic that he encountered if such spells were conceivable.

He shut his eyes, forcibly extracting such thoughts from his head, but the image of Loki, wandering disoriented with that bruise on his face, lingered, stuck to his consciousness like a burr.

Thor lay awake until dawn.

\---

Morning came too soon, yet not soon enough.

As the sunlight began to stream into his room, Thor drew the covers over his head. He wanted to lie in bed until he finally fell asleep, but he knew he couldn’t waste all day lazing about. The night had dragged on, Thor fixated on his brother’s words in the Vault and on the unsettling memory he had uncovered last night.

 _“So you’re right, Thor. I am a monster.”_

The words were so fresh in Thor’s mind that he almost shivered. Loki’s tone had been so frighteningly sharp, so uncaring, that it was still disturbing even days later. Thor shook off the lingering sense of dread and forced himself from his bed, leaving the warmth and comfort there to slog through another day.

He washed and dressed and headed down to the hall for breakfast, still partially bogged down by his fatigue and the thoughts that had been plaguing him for the past few days. As he pushed open the doors, he expected to see his father and mother, sitting at the head of the table, with Loki and Baldr sitting beside them. Every day for years, he had walked into this sight, to Loki greeting him with an adoring smile the moment he opened the door, to the warm, prideful looks from his parents.

Odin and Frigga still smiled at him this morning, but they were accompanied by only Baldr. Loki was gone, and Thor was overwhelmed with the eerie feeling that his brother had only been a poltergeist, a figment of Thor’s own imagination.

He seated himself at the bench, glancing at the unoccupied seat next to him. If he concentrated, he could hazily imagine Loki’s form beside him, just as it had been for years, but the moment he stopped focusing the illusion evaporated and he was left staring at the air beside him.

 _Thor remembers how skittish Loki is after they stop sharing a room._

 _The first night, he runs back to Thor’s room when he thought no one was looking, and Thor lets him stay there until Loki falls asleep on his bed. When his younger brother is soundly asleep, Thor carries him back to his own room, tucking him in. Loki never stirs, not once._

 _After that, Loki is fine sleeping in his own room, at least for the next two nights._

 _But on the fourth morning, Thor comes down to breakfast to find a tired, jumpy Loki sitting at the bench, too distracted to eat anything set before him. Thor sits beside him, as he does every morning, and Loki nervously glances at him from the side of his eye._

 _Thor begins to eat, tearing a chunk off a roll of bread with his teeth. Loki rearranges the items on his plate, but doesn’t bring anything to his mouth. Thor watches him, eyeing his brother’s wrist, where he can see the start of a purple, finger-shaped mark, and a curious expression crosses his face._

 _Loki quickly pulls his sleeve down to cover any trace of it and Thor looks up at his brother’s scared face. Peering past him, Thor can see his father sternly glaring at Loki until he finishes fiddling with his sleeve. He reasons that the bruise is the result of some punishment, or some trouble Loki has encountered._ That is why Father is mad with him, _Thor thinks. Loki has just done something wrong, but it will pass, like it always does._

 _Loki continues to push his food around his plate until Thor is done eating. Thor asks if they can be excused, and their father lets his eyes linger on Loki for a long second before nodding. With that, Thor is off, grabbing Loki’s arm (and ignoring the resulting flinch), and running excitedly from the table with his brother in tow._

 _“What do you want to do today, Loki?” he says, his enthusiasm brimming over. “I want to play on the back grounds today, let’s go get—”_

 _“No,” Loki says, his voice small and shy._

 _“What?” Thor is confused beyond reason. Why does Loki not want to play? Does he want to do something else, perhaps, a different game?_

 _“No, Thor,” Loki repeats. He looks down at the floor, as if ashamed to face Thor._

 _“Why?”_

 _“I just don’t.”_

 _Thor is concerned now. Whatever Odin’s punishment, whatever Loki has done to misbehave, is clearly more severe than Thor initially thought. Loki has_ never _refused to spend time with Thor. Normally his eyes light up when Thor comes in to breakfast, and they spend the meal quietly whispering about what they want to do that day. “What happened? What’s wrong?”_

 _Loki looks like he’s going to burst into tears for a split second. Thor panics, but Loki regains his composure, and Thor’s fears are temporarily assuaged. “Nothing, Thor,” he says._

 _“Well, do you want to play inside, then?” Thor offers. Loki is hesitant for a long while, but Thor manages to coerce him eventually. But Loki’s heart is not there, and he simply goes along with whatever Thor has him do. He is tired, listless, and something is bothering him, but about what he will give no clues._

 _A week later, Loki is so distraught he can barely keep himself awake, let alone focus on anything. Thor catches his brother napping in all kinds of places—it seems as though whenever Loki sits for more than a minute, no matter where he is, he falls asleep. Thor doesn’t have the heart to rouse him most times, instead watching Loki fitfully rest, noting the strange bruises that have begun to appear on him._

 _For a time, he considers asking his mother about Loki. But she sees the same Loki that Thor does, and if something is truly wrong, Frigga will help Loki. Loki is a boy still, Thor reasons. He is bound to have boyish scrapes._

 _He pities his brother, however, and the anxiety plaguing Loki is terrible. So after a week’s time, when Loki asks if he can sleep in Thor’s room that night, Thor naturally tells him yes. Loki is relieved, impossibly so, the pain in his eyes fading for just a brief second._

 _But it is back again when their father tells them that Loki must stay in his own room._

Thor coughed as he refocused on the present. He caught sight of his father, of Draupnir perched elegantly on his finger, and Thor scowled for a moment. The Odin he knows, the Allfather he has been raised by, doesn’t seem to fit with this memory, with the way Loki fears and abhors him.

Yet Odin and Frigga had lied to him.

He knows Loki is not his brother. Loki hated the jotun as much as Thor did, he feared them and the threat that they posed. He would not lie about something like that, Thor knew, and that meant that his parents had misled him for years. It angered Thor, to have been deceived so, but he did not want to start any conflicts with his parents at the present moment. Perhaps, in time, when the indignation had worn off, Thor would ask them in private, and reveal what Loki had shown him, but he knew that day would be far off.

Thor ate quickly, suddenly disinterested in the affairs of his family. He loved Baldr, but there was too large of an age gap between them to form a bond similar to what he had once had with Loki. And as for his parents, he intended to keep them at arm’s length until he felt he could trust them once more.

He dismissed himself from the table, ignoring his mother’s concerned looks and Baldr’s mild disappointment. He decided to take out his anger and frustration on the battlefield, in an environment that he controls, where he is a pawn to no one.

\---

Thor’s thoughts were elsewhere even in the ring.

He was unexpectedly vicious that day, lashing out with unprecedented brutality during his matches, his strikes much, much harder than anything that should have been used during sparring. Often times he would snap to just as his opponents went flying, regret sinking in as they hit the ground, and Thor would instantly drop his guard and apologize profusely.

He didn’t mean to hurt his friends.

Thor had never been particularly good at directing his anger, and he was now taking out the seething rage he harbored for Loki, and for his parents, out on poor Sif. She crumpled under a particularly harsh blow from his shield, crushing into her shoulder, and Thor withdrew his arm as if it had been burned after.

He blinked a few times, stupefied, and then quickly reached down a hand to help her, but she batted it away.

“What’s gotten into you today?” she said coldly, pushing herself to her feet. Thor was at a loss for words, and she frowned, pushing past him as she left the ring. He watched her go, feeling helpless, unable to explain the mixture of feelings that were slowly taking over every facet of his consciousness, like some poisonous vine growing over a tree.

Sif packed up her things, and the Warriors Three followed suit, claiming that they had other obligations, but that they would surely see Thor tomorrow. He nodded, stupefied, and let them go, cursing himself for being so distracted.

The rest of his friends would avoid him, smiling politely and acting friendly when they saw him, but Thor sensed their fear, and he knew they would keep their distance the next few days. Thor decided it was probably for the best—he didn’t want to hurt one of them, genuinely cause them harm, be it physical or verbal, in his current clouded state.

Thor remained in the center of the ring, the grounds around him now completely deserted, except for a few small, chirping birds that have gathered near the walls. He sighed heavily, and plodded back to the steps that led down to the ring. He shed the wooden practice shield from his arm, setting it on the ground beside him, before laying the wooden sword across it.

He sat down on the steps, staring out at the practice field, and he could imagine himself and his brother there, the way they had been as children, without worries, without cares, living blissfully in a world that held no pain.

 _Loki’s arms seem too weak, too frail to hold up the sword, but he does his best. His motions are awkward, and choppy, usually too slow to be of any effectiveness, but he tries, yelling like a fiend and lunging at his brother. Thor bests him every time, knocking Loki to the ground with ease, but Loki trips him once while floored, and both boys end up laughing in the dust._

 _They are both too busy trying to calm down when the doors to the courtyard open, and their father is looming over them. Loki’s eyes go wide, but Thor greets his father with a smile._

 _“What are you two doing?” Odin asks, eyeing the equipment strewn about the yard. Thor has just come of age, and as is custom, he has begun arms training. This did not mean, however, that it was his right to litter the yard with practice swords, shields and spears._

 _Thor rolls onto his stomach. “We were just playing,” he confesses, without any thought to the consequences. As he pushes himself to his feet, he is suddenly hit with what seems like the best idea in the world._

 _“Can Loki begin training with me?” he asks, his eyes wide and hopeful. He grabs a nearby wooden sword, one of the longswords his brother had been using, and hands it to Loki, who is busily trying to dust himself off and make himself presentable. Loki’s face glints with enthusiasm as he takes the handle._

 _“Can he, Father? Please?” Thor’s words have the eagerness only a young boy can possess, his words desperate and excited in the same measure. “I know he’s young, but he wants to. Don’t you, Loki?” He turns to his brother, still smiling and holding the wooden sword like it’s the best gift he has ever received._

 _Odin surveys the same sight, but he clearly does not see what Thor does. His expression is dour, one of utter distaste and disapproval, and it is almost with a snarl that he snatches the sword away from Loki. The small boy’s startled whimper does nothing to assuage his anger, and Odin tosses the sword without regard._

 _“No,” he snaps, “he cannot.”_

 _“But, Father!” Thor protests, watching hopelessly as tears spring to Loki’s eyes. His brother wipes them with his sleeves, ashamed, trying to hide his sorrow before their stern, unforgiving father. Thor’s face and hopes fall at the image of his brother, furiously biting his lip and twisting his sleeves in his hands, his breathing uneven in a vain attempt not to cry._

 _Odin grabs Loki’s bony wrist and drags him from the room. Thor continues to protest long after the massive gold doors are shut and his father is long gone, knowing that no one but Heimdall can hear him. When even he feels like a fool for talking to the air, he picks up the wooden sword, and finds the smallest shield he can, something that Loki’s frame will be able to support._

 _He stashes them in his room until he sees Loki the next morning, wandering the halls with a blank look and a purple bruise on his face. Thor instantly grabs him and leads him like a startled horse to his room, proudly showing him what he has hidden._

 _“Here,” he says, handing Loki the sword. “We can still fight, the two of us. I’ll teach you everything I—”_

 _He stops, watching as Loki’s wrist releases and the sword clatters to the floor. Loki’s arm hangs limply at his side, his gaze fixed on the marble. Thor bends down and retrieves the sword when Loki doesn’t move after a long moment._

 _“What’s wrong?” he asks softly._

 _“I don’t want to play,” is all Loki has to offer before he turns and leaves. Thor grips the sword harder, wondering what he has done to anger his brother._

Thor nudged the shield with his boot, and the sword slid off of it, landing in the dirt with a delicate _pat._ Thor sighed, wishing he could go back to those days of boyish innocence, but knowing that they were forever lost in a night of drunken fumbling.

“I miss you, Loki,” he said, fully aware that Loki couldn’t hear him. Out here, his only audience was the few sparrows squabbling in the corner, and this was why Thor felt safe with his confession. “I miss who you were, the Loki I knew since childhood, the Loki I called my brother.”

Thoughts begin to crowd Thor’s head, further distant memories of his father’s harsh anger and treatment toward Loki throughout the years, of Loki’s slow withdrawal from society, and of his own (willful?) ignorance of it all.

Suddenly a seed of doubt began to germinate in the back of his mind. What if Loki hadn’t been lying? What if there was some grain of truth to his story, something that Thor, in his naïve state, had overlooked? What if he had been oblivious to all of the signs around him, things he had buried until now?

Perhaps Thor was blind, but he knew someone who was all-seeing.

\---

Thor’s mind was racing as fast as his horse as he rode to Himinbjorg.

It was a short ride; Thor had left in the late afternoon, and he knew that if he kept on at this pace, he would be there by early evening. But the jaunt on horseback seemed too long, and Thor was afraid of being left to his own thoughts.

Little things he had long ignored now came screaming forth in his mind, incidents over the years that Thor had disregarded, too absorbed in his own ego and self to care about the well-being of his brother. Snippets of Loki’s conversations with Thor resurfaced, comments he had passed over now rearing their head, tossing him into further turmoil.

 _“He made me this way, Thor, I can’t help it.”_

Loki had said that before he had approached Father, before he had begun to construct what Thor had assumed was a ruse. Now he wasn’t so sure—it seemed too elaborate, too devastating to Loki for his brother to have lied about this whole thing. Loki knew that an admission of guilt and an apology would do wonders to repair the damage between himself and Thor, and since Loki had made no move to do so, Thor knew he must stand behind his actions and words.

 _“He…_ did _things to me, when we were—”_

The more Thor thought about it, the more that he uncovered from the fog in his mind, the more Loki’s story seemed believable. That prospect frightened Thor, more than any foe he had faced on the field, more than the sons of Muspellheim, more than any wicked creature lurking in Jotunheim. If he had betrayed his brother through disbelief, over something of this magnitude, Thor would never forgive himself.

He didn’t think Loki would, either.

 _Loki’s face is somber, an old man’s expression resting on a boy’s face. He eyes Thor with disapproval, like so many in Thor’s life do—Father, Mother, Tyr and Njord, sometimes even Baldr. But this disapproval is not enough to stop Thor from creeping—not very subtly, but doing his best—up on the lazy old tomcat that is sunning himself on the wall._

 _Loki frowns when Thor looks back at him, a step away from the cat. It’s no matter, Thor thinks. Watching his brother scare the cat always brings a smile to Loki’s face._

 _Thor gives the cat a quick poke, and the animal jumps to his feet with a yowl before losing his footing and falling from the wall. He lands on the floor below on his feet, ever graceful, and scampers away. Thor has a smile on his face, but as he looks to Loki, his brother remains unaffected._

 _“Don’t spook the animals,” Loki says flatly. “It’s immature.”_

 _The smile is wiped instantly from Thor’s face by Loki’s harsh words. “I’m sorry, Brother,” he offers quietly. Loki scowls in disappointment and turns his back on his brother._

 _Thor can’t help the feeling that his brother is mad at him, absolutely_ furious _with Thor, but Loki denies this when asked. His brother seems irritated with everyone, however, but this does not assuage Thor’s fears that Loki hates him. He wonders what happened to the innocent mischief in Loki’s heart, if it were taken from him, or if he chose to abandon it._

 _Loki hasn’t smiled or laughed in a long time. Thor can’t remember the last incident, but he knows it was long before Loki turned skittish and nervous. For a long period Loki was depressed, and it seemed as though the spark were gone from his eyes. As a result he stopped playing pranks, he stopped playing with Thor and his friends, he stopped being a boy._

 _Eventually, the pranks returned, and the anxiety faded into this seemingly constant state of irritation. Loki’s mischief now seemed to harbor true malice, and this worried Thor. He didn’t like this foreign, cruel side to his brother—where was the wide-eyed, joyful boy who had been without a care in the world?_

 _Thor stares at the floor, ashamed, feeling as though he is before his father and not the brother he so treasures. Loki is his friend, his_ best _friend, and now he stands before him like a chastising parent. He sneaks his gaze upward to see Loki’s face soften into a sort of tired acceptance, patient yet benevolent._

 _But still no smile graces Loki’s lips, and the small frown he wears serves only to remind Thor of what he lost._

The pieces to the puzzle were too clear now, placed side by side, outlined so clearly that Thor wondered how he had been so unaware all these years. He had a million questions in his mind, some half formed, others clear and prominent and begging to be asked, but each demanding attention in its own right.

Thor spurred his horse harder.

\---

Thor was relieved when the Bifrost drew into view.

Heimdall was outside his hall, tending to his horse Gulltopp, who seemed apprehensive as Thor rode up, whinnying and struggling to get free. It was windy, and there was rain on the horizon, the sky crowded with dark, heavy clouds.

Heimdall gave Thor an apprehensive look as well, and Thor knew Heimdall understood why he had come. He saw all, surely he had seen Thor’s reasons for seeking him out.

“My lord,” he said, trying to steady Gulltopp as Thor dismounted. His legs were stiff, but he shook it off and tied his borrowed horse to a post without ceremony before heading into the stables where Heimdall stood.

He approached Heimdall, just as Gulltopp was being shut back into his paddock once more, and Heimdall sighed, his back to Thor, unwilling to face him. “You have questions,” he said, and finally turned around. Thor could see his face was full of worry as well, and he nodded, unable to find words, instead following Heimdall back outside toward the hall.

“What do you want to know?” The question was just a formality—Thor was well aware that Heimdall knew _exactly_ what Thor wanted to know. Thor knew he had asked to give him a chance to stop now, before Heimdall told him, for there were some things that men should not know.

“I need to know about my brother,” Thor said.

Heimdall set his brow sternly. “Are you certain?”

Heimdall’s hesitancy spoke volumes to Thor. He knew now that Loki hadn’t been lying, at least not fully, and that sickened him, but he had to understand fully. He couldn’t leave things as they were.

“Yes,” Thor said, almost breathless. “I have to know. He wasn’t lying, was he?”

“No,” Heimdall answered, and stared at the grass beneath them.

Thor felt as though the ground had been ripped beneath him. He had no words now, nothing but angry, confused, hurt feelings coursing through his veins and pushing any kind of coherent thought out. Heimdall sighed, pained, and nudged him at the shoulder.

“We’ll speak inside,” he said, guiding Thor towards the doors. Thor was simply too numb to walk, stumbling alongside Heimdall, who patiently waited for him. His limbs had turned to lead, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down on the grass here and curl up, to drift off to a time when everything was still pleasant and nothing contained this awful, dreadful hurt.

Heimdall’s hall was empty, dim inside, yet still inviting and warm, and he sat Thor down at one of the benches. Thor was vaguely aware that he was shaking, like a boy in his first battle, and he tried to hide it by twisting his hands together in his lap.

“My father…” he began, trying frantically to string together a sentence, “…my father really did those things to him?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Thor whispered. He knew it was true now, but he didn't _want_ to believe it, not at all. “Why would he…?”

Heimdall had no answer for Thor’s half question. All he could give him was a disturbed, distressed look, one almost as pained as Thor’s. Thor understood that Heimdall had seen these things, for years, had personally witnessed them, and he couldn’t begin to fathom that kind of a burden.

“You knew,” Thor said, softly. He was filled with so much anger and resentment that it ceased to rile him, and all he felt was a sinking, dreadful fury that mingled with the pity he now felt for his brother. “You knew what he was _doing_ to him, for _years_ , and you…you let it happen?”

Heimdall’s gaze was unfocused. Thor understood the onus of seeing all and hearing all—more often than not, he probably witnessed things he never wanted to. Thor was certain this had been as such.

“He is my king,” Heimdall replied, almost lethargic. “To say such things about him would have been considered treason.”

A thousand different questions burned in Thor’s mind at that second, jumbling together in a sea of emotion. _What if Father had maimed him so badly he couldn’t recover? Would you have stood idly by and watched as a prince of Asgard was beaten to death? What if it had been me instead of him, instead of the forlorn son? Would you have done something then, Gatekeeper?_

He moved his gaze from Heimdall’s helm to the floor. _You would have. If the rightful heir, if Odin’s blood, were jeopardized, you would have spoken up, even at the risk of treason. But you let him suffer, because he was an outsider._

“Why did you not tell me?” Thor asked after a long moment, clutching a handful of his red cloak.

Heimdall sighed and lowered his head slightly. “Because you are still rash, my lord. Even now you are consumed with anger on behalf of your brother.”

“Shouldn’t I be?!” he snarled, then snapped his jaws shut to bite back the torrent of angry words begging to be loosed.

Thor bit his lip and drew in a shaky breath. He realized the truth in Heimdall’s statement—he wanted nothing more than to confront his father on this issue immediately. But doing so now would serve no good, and only alienate him farther from Loki. Knowing this, however, did not make it any easier to sit by and remain patient.

“How is he?”

Heimdall seemed taken aback by the question. “Not well.”

Thor shuts his eyes and buried his face in his palms. It was only when Heimdall spoke once more that he uncovered his face.

“You should speak with him.”

“I can’t,” he confessed. “Not yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two quick canon notes:
> 
> I'm well aware that Laufey is Loki's mother in myth, but I chose to stick with Laufeyson because it's a kenning for Loki and it's the name used in the movie. And I know that Heimdall has the Observatory in the movie, but...he has no place to live, so I gave him the hall from myth. And I'm also pretty sure Gatekeeper is not a kenning for Heimdall, but I'll let it slide since they use it in the movie. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love, cookies and props once again to Moiraine, and to everyone who reads/comments/leaves kudos. You guys all keep me on track!

Thor left Himinbjorg as the sun tossed up its final rays, Sol slipping beneath the horizon in her chariot, ever pursued by the wolf, Skoll. It had begun to rain, the cold droplets stinging Thor’s face as he rode, but he was too empty, too wrung out to care at all. _Let me suffer_ , he thought. It was insignificant compared to what Loki had endured for _years_.

By the time he had finished riding he was soaked, his legs caked in mud that had been flung up by his horse’s hooves, his hair plastered to his face, his clothing sodden and heavy. He turned his horse over to the servants, dismounting in the darkness, and slunk into the palace, a messy, dripping wreck, nothing more than a pathetic shadow of his normally radiant self.

It was late night now, and there was no one out and about at this hour, so Thor was without witnesses to his disgraceful state. He crept back to his room, afraid someone would see him, would ask him where he had been all evening, and Thor was not sure if he could handle any kind of serious conversation right then.

Once inside, he peeled off his clothes, discarding them in a soggy heap on the floor, and drew a bath, climbing in when the water was still shedding little curls of steam in an effort to chase the cold from his bones. It was a peculiar, occult cold, one that lingered in his chest and forced the breath from him, unsettled him beyond reason, and one that would not leave his thoughts. It was a cold that stemmed, he supposed, from the crimes his father had committed against Loki, from the lies they had both been told their whole lives, and from the indifference of third parties to the whole affair.

Thor knew his mother had known. She had to. She was so close to their father, his trusted wife and queen and advisor—surely she had picked up on this at some point. And Thor was horrified that she had not stopped it. Frigga had the power to stand up to Odin; she had in the past, on issues far less grave, and he had listened. And if he would not, she should have protected Loki, for even if he was not her blood, he was an innocent child, a child she had adopted when Odin brought him into their home.

A child they had raised as their own. As a brother to Thor.

 _Frigga dotes on both her boys._

 _She kisses Thor on the forehead, pulling the covers up to his shoulders and stroking his head for a moment. Loki wriggles insistently beside him, demanding attention, reaching small hands up towards her, and she leans over to embrace him tightly before planting a kiss on the crown of his head as well. She holds open the covers, and he snuggles in beside Thor, a sleepy grin on his face, and she tucks them both in._

 _She bids them good night, telling them that she loves them both, and then quietly slips out the door, leaving her two children in darkness. Thor watches as Loki squirms, getting comfortable, and then shuts his eyes with one last tired yawn. Loki falls asleep quickly—he is small and young, and an average day’s events tire him completely out._

 _Thor falls asleep to the soft sounds of Loki breathing, of the steady warmth and presence his brother provides, and the moment it is gone Thor awakens. He blinks a few times, making out the dim shape of Loki, standing on the edge of the bed, hands at his sides, as if steeling himself for something._

 _Thor lifts his head off the pillow, curious, and he flinches as Loki crouches and then jumps from the dais. His tiny brother lands a few feet away and instantly_ crumples _, and then Thor is flinging the sheets back, racing to get over to him. “Loki!” he yells, afraid, not caring who hears him at this hour._

 _Loki whimpers on the floor, trying to pick himself up as Thor rushes to his side. “What are you doing?” he hisses, not meaning to sound angry, but he is extremely concerned for his brother, and the vehemence comes off as disapproval._

 _There are tears in Loki’s round eyes. “There are monsters under the bed, Thor,” he says, and Thor realizes just how small and innocent Loki is, merely a child of four. “I didn’t want them to get me.”_

 _Thor hugs his brother, kisses the top of his head, and embraces him fiercely, Loki making a soft squeak when Thor squeezes him too hard. “Don’t jump off the bed anymore,” he says, and he feels Loki nod into his chest._

 _“But how am I supposed to get out of bed without the monsters getting me?” Loki looks up at him, and Thor can see that his brother’s fear is very real, even though Thor is well aware that there are no monsters lurking beneath their bed._

 _He smiles. “I’ll protect you, Loki, from whatever monsters are under there. Don’t worry.”_

 _He stands up, pulling Loki with him, and leads him back to the bed, tucking him in. Loki pouts for a moment, his tiny hands wadding the covers in frustration. “_ Thor, _” he protests, “I’m_ thirsty. _”_

 _Thor laughs and tells his brother to wait there, in bed. He knows Loki will follow any order Thor gives him to the best of his ability, and Loki instantly locks up, determined to hold his post, come whatever may. When Thor returns from the kitchens with a glass full of water for him, Loki is still sitting there, wide-eyed and innocent._

 _His thirst sated, he suddenly seems tired out, and he hands the glass back to Thor and curls up on his side. Thor sets the glass down beside the bed, and slips around to the other side, crawling beneath the blankets to lie close to Loki. His brother is nearly fast asleep once more, his breathing slow and regular, his face slack and calm._

 _Thor settles himself, placing his head on the pillows and drawing the blankets up over both of them, and then quickly succumbs to sleep himself once more._

He sank back against the wall, watching the water ripple, and stared down at his hands beneath the water. What good had his strength, his skill in battle, his bravery done him to protect his brother? He was too thick-headed, too obtuse; too much of an “oaf,” as Loki called him, to see what had been unfolding before him all these years. He was just as bad as Frigga or Heimdall, he reasoned, only he had been too dim-witted to figure out what had been going on.

His brow contorted in anger, and he felt the sting of tears as his vision swam. No. He wouldn’t cry. That was silly, and weak, and ultimately, Thor was not the victim here. He mustn’t forget that, not when Loki had been so brutalized, so tortured, so abused.

Thor took a shaky breath, biting his lip for a long second as he waited for the moment of instability to pass. A majority of it did, but fragments, remnants still lingered, and Thor supposed that they would for a long, long while, until they simply faded like scars, vestigial reminders of painful wounds inflicted long ago.

\---

Thor knew he was stalling unnecessarily.

He stayed in the bath until all the heat had vanished from the water, and even then it took him a long time to step from it and redress. He did so slowly, and carefully, making each gesture overly deliberate, drawing out his actions for as long as he possibly could.

Thor was afraid. It was as simple as that—he wasn’t a man of complexity. He was terrified of the state his brother must be in; the state Thor had inadvertently put him in through his disbelief, through his doubt, through his distrust. Appalling possibilities crossed Thor’s mind, images of Loki maimed by his own hand, spurred on by Thor’s vicious words and crueler actions. _Loki, dangling from his balcony, lips blue and eyes blank. Loki, lying drowned in the bath, hair fluttering serenely beneath the water’s surface. Loki, curled up in bed, a red stain beneath him and a knife piercing his belly._

The scenes haunted him, and Thor was caught between a burning desire to chase them away and the paralyzing prospect that they could be true. And so, the only thing his mind had arrived at was to stall, even though he knew that each second he wasted could be Loki’s last.

Yet Thor could not open the massive doors leading into his brother’s room.

They were unlocked, he sensed it, for when Loki wanted those doors to remain closed he made it felt, sealing them from the inside with magic far beyond Thor’s comprehension. But this time, there was nothing keeping them shut. Loki had counted on the fact that no one would come looking for him, and Thor was saddened that he had been right.

He paced outside the room once more, nausea building in his stomach and making it hard to breathe. In combat, he was fearless, yet these two doors and the situation that lay beyond him had reduced him to a sniveling coward. He clenched his fists, frustrated at his own pusillanimity, and suddenly seized upon the doors, standing before them to quickly recompose himself before he finally pushed them open.

They were heavy, even for him, but he opened it quickly and slid inside, trying to be as silent as his clunky, cumbersome form would allow. The scuffing of his boots on the marble didn’t seem to alert anyone, however, and Thor casually shut the door behind him.

The air in the room was stagnant and heavy and still, almost redolent in sorrow and lethargy. Thor cautiously took a few steps into the room, approaching Loki’s massive bed, located on the dais in the center of the room. The covers were askew, but he could make out a lanky frame curled up in the center, half-buried under thick green velvet.

His brother had his back to Thor, lying on his side, knees drawn to his chest like a child. His clothes were scattered about the room, leaving him clad in only a black shirt and pants, his splendid vest lying in several pieces beside the bed, the metal ornaments resting amidst them. Thor’s eyes skimmed over them, some torn in two or shredded from Loki’s rage. Scraps of them littered the dark floor.

He rounded the foot of the bed, taking a moment to view his brother. Loki’s ragged clothing fit the rest of his look—matted hair tangled and lying in his face, his skin ashen and dull, eyes unfocused and glassy. The sight of him, so dead and unfeeling, twisted something ugly in Thor.

Loki was curled around one of his precious knives, clutching it the way a mother would a child to her breast. Thor knew what he had meant to do with it, and he was grateful to whatever power had prevented Loki from carrying out his plans. With a heavy heart, he realized he should have come to him sooner, for Thor knew he was fortunate that he hadn’t walked into Loki’s room and found a corpse lying among the clutter.

Thor sat at the foot of the bed, the whole mattress dipping under his weight, Loki’s legs shifting slightly due to the new angle. He made no motion to acknowledge his brother, however, and Thor reciprocated by resting his hands in his lap.

They sat there for a few moments, neither moving, Thor simply staring at Loki with a pained, unsure expression. When his brother spoke, his voice was weak and rasping, as if even the act of vocalization was painful.

“Please, Thor.” His brother’s arm unfurled from around the knife, putting it on display, the metal gleaming hungrily in the dim light. “I’m too much of a coward to do it myself.”

“Loki,” Thor protested, followed gently by, “no.”

Loki shifted on the bed, drawing an arm up to cover his face.

“When did you last leave this room?”

Silence, punctuated occasionally by one of Loki’s ragged breaths.

“When?” Thor repeated, more sternly, needing to know. He was afraid if he pressed too hard, however, Loki would simply shut down entirely.

“After we fought,” his brother confessed, rushed but still soft. His voice was further muffled by his arm, and he made no attempt to uncover his face. “I came straight here.”

Thor let the silence return, focusing his gaze on his lap instead of on Loki’s bedraggled form. His brother had lain here, alone, for four days and nights, his room in tatters around him. Most of the furniture was still overturned, the product of Thor’s signature temper, but all of Loki’s treasures, his clothes, his books, anything he had valued, now rested on top in small heaps of mangled fragments.

“I spoke with Heimdall,” Thor said, nudging half of a book with his foot. It had been torn at the spine clean in two, and the other half lay a few feet away, connected by a trail of stray pages. “He told me you spoke the truth.”

His brother smiled bitterly before shutting his eyes. Thor saw something run down the side of Loki’s face—a tear, he realized, Loki was always so _prone_ to crying.

Now he knew why.

“I didn’t _want_ to speak the truth,” Loki said, his voice congested and warbling.

“You shouldn’t have been forced to lie about something like that,” Thor said sharply.

Loki sat up, turning to face him fully. “Don’t tell me that,” he snarled. “Even _you_ , you who claim to be my closest friend and ally, my _brother_ , did not believe me.” His eyes were red-rimmed, framed by dark circles from lack of sleep, and his shoulders were heaving ever so slightly from rage.

“And I was wrong,” Thor said, any of the former severity in his voice now gone. “I realize that now. I committed a grave wrong against you by dismissing it. And for that I’m sorry.” Thor stumbled on the last few words, trying not to give in to the grief threatening to drown him, grief brought on by the sight of his brother’s wretched form staring at him with confusion and anger. He couldn’t show this to Loki—his brother had been through more than his share of hardship, and what right did Thor have to cry in front of him?

Loki was panting now, his eyes frenetically searching his brother’s face. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, hands clenching and unclenching the soft fabric of his pants.

“I know it doesn’t remedy anything,” he continued, shifting his posture slightly to face Loki more. “But I’m here for you now. Anything you need, call upon me.”

His brother’s narrow frame swayed slightly from side to side, his eyes vacant and his mouth slightly agape. Eventually his green eyes found Thor’s face once more, his expression confused and hurt, seeking answers from his brother, as if asking _why now?_

“Loki, if I had known, I swear to you—” Anger flashed through Thor, to be replaced by an awful sorrow. Thor only wished he had known sooner, when he could have done something, could have possibly prevented the horrid deeds inflicted upon his brother.

“I know,” he answered weakly. They were both without words for a long minute, Loki idly staring at his knees while Thor watched him with concern.

“Thor,” Loki began, shifting only his eyes up to look at his brother, “do you still love me?”

 _A piece of paper shoved at him, asking the same question in stark, black writing, asked by a stricken brother in the only way left open to him._

“Of course,” he whispered. “You’re my brother, Loki, and I would do anything for you.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

Thor shook his head. “Blood doesn’t matter. You were raised alongside me, walked the same halls that I did, ate at the same table, shared the same experiences. And you, Loki, are more loyal than any set of blood brothers I have seen.”

Loki seemed satisfied with this answer, uncurling his arms from around his legs and letting them drop, sitting cross-legged and facing his brother. Thor could see just how disheveled he was now, his greasy hair matted against his face, which was pinched, pale and sallow, his eyes sunken and glassy.

Thor rose from the bed, stepping around to stand beside his brother. “Come, Loki,” he said, placing his hands on his brother’s thin shoulders, urging him to stand. Loki reluctantly did so, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed in a manner that reminded Thor of a spider—graceful despite the limbs that looked anything but.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Thor said, leading his brother like a shy horse to the bath chamber. Loki stood idly by as Thor knelt and started to fill the tub, shifting nervously from foot to foot, as if unsure of what to do.

“Why don’t you find some new clothes?” Thor suggested. He reasoned that giving Loki a task would begin to alleviate his anxiety, but Loki just gave him a blank look in return.

“I have none.” Loki paused for a moment before elaborating. “These are the only things that aren’t ripped up.” He pulled lightly at the hem of his black shirt, as if showing it off.

Thor frowned. “Well, you can borrow something of mine until we get you new ones. Or maybe there’s something out there that’s not a completely lost cause.”

Loki nodded, and Thor rose to his feet, patting his brother on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he said, stepping out of the bath chamber. “Just going to go get you something to wear.”

His brother gave a stupefied blink, but stood where he was. Thor rushed to his room, retrieving the first clothes he found that would somewhat fit Loki, and then returned, not wanting to leave Loki to his own devices for too long. Loki was still in the bath chamber, arms crossed, staring at the steam coming up from the water.

“Here,” Thor said, setting the clothes down in a small pile at the edge of the tub. “For when you’re finished.”

Loki gave a solemn nod. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Thor began to back out of the room once more. “I’ll be outside.”

Another nod. Thor slipped from the room and shut the door, praying that Loki wouldn’t do anything rash without his presence. His brother’s whole demeanor now worried him, and finding Loki with that knife had reinforced all of those fears. But he didn’t want to mention anything to Loki, anything that might upset his brother and think that he still did not trust him, because Thor knew that right now all Loki needed was trust.

Thor wandered a bit away from the door, toward the center of Loki’s room, and gently nudged some of the debris on the floor away with his foot, creating a tiny haven to sit in. He dropped to his knees, surveying the remaining contents of his room, already planning to have everything repaired—no, to replace them with things even grander than what he had previously possessed.

And so Thor waited, nervously twisting a scrap of what had once been Loki’s regal green cape in his hands.

\---

Loki had never known relief of this magnitude before.

He watched the steam swirl above the surface of the water for a few minutes, spellbound by it and the clarity of his thoughts for the first time in weeks. He pricked the surface with his finger, watching ripples spread out, the sensation of the warm water on his hand calling to him.

His relief broke momentarily, and Loki realized just how truly disheveled he was, and he frowned, pulling his shirt over his head. He caught sight of himself in the mirror on the other side of the room and covered his thin chest with his arms, alarmed by his prominent ribs, by his bony shoulders and the odd angle his collarbone stuck out at. He flushed with embarrassment, even knowing full well that there was no one here to judge his appearance, and he suddenly felt hideous, recalling memories of his brother’s toned, muscular torso. Loki wondered for a split second if he would look like Thor, too, had he been allowed to continue training alongside his brother.

It was a pointless thought to entertain, and Loki stripped off the rest of his clothes and climbed into the tub, curling up in a corner and simply resting. He washed the grime from his hair and cleaned his face, leaning against the side of the tub for a long while afterwards, until the water had lost all of its heat. For the first time in years, Loki felt as though the vines of torment had been cut free, the snake of guilt and shame had stopped strangling the breath from him, the crushing fetters of terror had finally snapped.

He drained the water and stepped out, drying himself off before dressing himself in Thor’s far-too-big clothes. They were almost comical on his lanky frame, the sleeves too long and covering Loki’s hands, the pants slipping off his waist. Loki would have laughed, except his appearance seemed more pathetic upon further review, his lean frame drowning in his brother’s attire.

Frowning, he pushed open the door, but froze in his tracks when he heard the soft sounds of weeping. Thor was hunched over, near the foot of Loki’s bed in the center of the room, his back to his brother, and Loki could very clearly tell that his brother was the one crying.

Loki lingered in the doorway, silent, watching his brother’s figure. Thor’s whole body shook with each sob, the physicality of his anguish radiating through every limb, and Loki was shocked at how quiet his brother was. He expected Thor to smash the walls and the remaining furniture in despair, but instead Thor was on his knees, lamenting softly with his head buried in his hands.

Loki could hold no resentment towards Thor. His brother had never been very bright, and drawing conclusions was certainly not one of his strengths. He was also somewhat unaware of his surroundings, and even more oblivious towards the comments and actions of those around him. Loki’s constant lying and aversion of Thor’s questions hadn’t helped, either.

He crept across the floor, Thor too absorbed in his crying to hear Loki’s light footfalls. He loomed over his brother for a moment, unsure of what to do—Loki was usually the one who needed comforting, not the comforter.

“Thor?” he whispered, and his brother froze. Thor whipped his head around, sniffing, a long strand of blond hair stuck in the middle of his face.

“Oh,” he said, sheepish, sniffing again. “I didn’t realize you had finished.” He quickly swiped at his face, trying to hide the evidence of his sorrow.

Loki tensed, his brows furrowing together. He knelt down beside Thor, his brother glancing at him from the corner of his eye, and then looking away, ashamed.

“Thor….”

“I failed you, Loki,” Thor said, his normally booming, confident voice now a dying whisper.

“What?”

“I failed you as a brother and a friend.” Several tears ran down Thor’s face once more, and Loki saw that his brother’s eyes were bloodshot. “I wasn’t there to protect you when you needed it. And I didn’t believe you in your time of crisis.”

Loki flinched as Thor slammed his fist into his thigh with an anguished cry. It looked like it hurt, and he knew even Thor’s hardy flesh would turn purple and bruise from the sheer force of the blow.

“Thor, you didn’t know—”

“I didn’t know because I’m an _idiot,_ Loki!” Thor spat angrily. Loki knew he was furious with himself, but he still shied away slightly at those words. “A vain, stupid _idiot,_ unworthy of everything….”

“Thor, please stop,” Loki said, crawling around to face Thor. He placed his hands on either side of his brother’s face. “You didn’t know, and you were just a child—”

“So were you, Loki,” Thor retorted, putting his palm over Loki’s. He swallowed, averting his gaze, and Loki was at a loss for words.

He ran his thumb over his brother’s cheekbone, studying the contrast between milky skin and tan flesh. “Thor, please don’t blame yourself,” he said weakly.

“No,” Thor protested, squeezing Loki’s hand. “I was so _stupid,_ Loki, so _blind,_ if I had just opened my eyes for _once_ in my life and seen what was going on, then maybe—”

“Stop, Thor,” Loki said. “Even if you did know, what could you have done?” Thor looked up at him, anger smoldering beneath a veil of grief, and Loki knew that Thor would have done the most straightforward thing possible and confronted their father. But they both knew that deep down it would have been to no avail, that Thor looked away again, frightened.

Loki squeezed a bit harder, feeling his brother’s cheekbones beneath his fingertips. “I’m _here_ , Thor. I’m still _here._ What’s done was done, but I’m still _here._ ” His voice was serious and grave, begging his brother to at least begin to forgive himself.

Thor’s eyes widened in panic, and Loki knew that his brother was contemplating the possibility of a present where Loki was, in fact, not here. Thor shut his eyes, biting his lip, and Loki watched his brother’s internal struggle to not simply let his anguish overrule him with a heavy heart. Thor had been raised to the strict masculine standards that governed the Aesir society, and crying, showing weakness of any kind, was strictly forbidden.

“Thor, listen to me,” Loki began, tilting Thor’s head back to look at him. “You can’t blame yourself for this. You didn’t know, and even if you had, you were but a child, and father is _king._ There is _nothing,_ absolutely _nothing,_ you could have done. I have never harbored any kind of resentment towards you from this, and I never will.” Loki’s voice cracked, and to avoid breaking down himself, he concentrated on Thor’s expression, who was watching him with dedicated, vulnerable eyes. “You are…y-you are my brother, Thor, and I love you above all else.”

Thor’s hand dropped from its position at his face, and he shifted both of his arms around Loki, pulling him close. Loki pressed his face to the warm expanse of Thor’s chest and simply let his brother hold him, listening to his ragged panting and the rapid beating of his heart. His breaths quickly turned into sobs, and Loki felt Thor’s hands holding him tighter, one snaking up to entwine in his hair, stroking it.

Thor wept for a long while. Loki didn’t mind being held, gripping his brother’s shirt fiercely as Thor’s sobs slowly subsided, his grip on Loki increasing, holding his brother with such vigor that Loki could not break free by force, even if he wanted to. He enjoyed the security it provided him with, a sense that he was protected, that here in Thor’s arms, he was, for the time being, safe.

\---

 _At first, Loki was too confused, too startled by what his father had done to him to even think of telling anyone. He thought it was just something that happened to all boys, something that everyone must go through, a harrowing rite of passage, and that it would be over soon, just as quickly as it had begun, though he cannot imagine anyone as strong as his brother, as confident, in a position as such._

 _But it had been almost a full moon, and it had only gotten worse. The beatings, the physicality of it, became much more severe, forcing Loki to wear long sleeved clothes to hide the marks, even on hotter days. The touches, the things his father did to him, and made him do, scarred his mind, memories surfacing abruptly at awkward, inappropriate times, and Loki would start to cry, helpless, in the midst of conversation, or during a lesson, even once while dining with Thor and his friends._

 _Loki wants to tell them when they look at him strangely. He wants to tell them more than anything, to have someone to help bear his pain and confusion, but he cannot burden anyone, least of all Thor. His brother is strong and independent, and Loki feels he must be, too. This is his yoke to bear, and he will suffer in silence._

 _He thinks no one knows of his plight until Frigga comes to him_

 _His father has beaten him senseless and fucked him mercilessly, leaving him in a sniveling heap on the bed. He rises and straightens his clothes effortlessly while Loki struggles to redress himself in his pajamas with hands that won’t stop trembling. Already there are new bruises, and he can feel blood between his legs as he pulls his pants on once more, the sensation bringing about a fresh wave of shame. Loki fights back tears until his father shuts the door, and then he stops and simply sobs, his shirt half-twisted in his hands._

 _He is whimpering, so consumed in his own grief as he pulls his shirt over his head that he does not notice the door open. Frigga slips inside, quick enough that Loki knows she has been waiting outside, that she has heard what transpired inside, and Loki looks at her with pleading, with shame and agony on his face._

 _Hers is a sympathetic gaze, and she rushes to his side, sitting on the bed next to him, and holds him while he laments, smoothing his hair and rocking him gently, like she had when he was a small child, frightened of the monsters lurking in the dark. But now his monsters are much more real, much more harmful, and Loki has no idea how to fight them, or even how to_ survive. __

 _He calms himself eventually, his breathing slowing from panting, and she releases him, still sitting beside him, clutching his hand fiercely and gazing at him with concern in her eyes. Just looking at her makes Loki teeter on the edge of sorrow once more._

 _“Please make him stop,” he says, his voice thick and wet. Frigga flinches at it, either from the sound or from his words, but from which Loki is not sure._

 _“I can’t change him, Loki,” she says, stroking the side of his face as he looks away in disappointment. “I can’t do anything.” There is utter regret in her words, but it is not enough, it will never be enough, not to sate the anger and hurt that is growing inside him._

 _He snatches his hand away and scoots backwards. “You would if it were Thor,” he spat, refusing to look at her._

 _“Loki, that’s not—”_

 _“What? Not true? You know what, you’re probably right, because he wouldn’t_ do _this to Thor, to his_ son _, now would he?” He stands from the bed as he speaks, looming partially over her, a boy snarling with clenched fists at the woman who claims to be his mother but has failed in her most important duty._

 _Frigga is too shocked to respond, and Loki can feel his animosity for her growing. Frigga knows that he is not her son, that he is not Aesir, and Loki has recently learned as well, and he realizes despite the ruse they put on before the people of Asgard, she will not protect him as her own. She rises, attempting to embrace him, but he squirms away and runs down the dais, towards the doors. He wants nothing to do with her, nothing to do with her sickly-sweet attempts at comforting a boy she has thrown to the wolves._

 _And so he flees, running until his legs are exhausted and he is in a corridor he does not recognize. He figures it is safe here, and then, he sits down, back to the wall, and curls into a ball, his knees to his chest, and simply waits._

 _Here, far from them, he cannot be harmed._

Loki wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, when his mind drifted from the warm comfort of Thor’s arms to running scared down unfamiliar passageways, but when he awoke, it was to the soft covers of his bed, lying on his side with Thor sitting beside him, eyeing Loki with worry, his hands resting fretfully in his lap, as if he wanted to touch Loki, to soothe him, but was too frightened to.

“Are you all right?” he whispered once Loki made eye contact with him. Loki returned a small, hesitant nod, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Thor. “You were thrashing,” Thor offered, and Loki knew why.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “It was just a nightmare. No cause for alarm.”

The saddened expression that crossed his brother’s face stung Loki for a minute. He didn’t want Thor to fuss over him, to treat him like some fragile child now that he knew what he had been through. He wanted him to be his brother, to be the charismatic, brash (if a bit thickheaded) Thor he knew and loved, not this frail, easily alarmed worrywart he had suddenly become.

“What were you dreaming about?”

Loki paused to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Mother,” he said, offering no further explanation. Thor did not press him, instead shifting slightly down the bed to give Loki more space. Loki pushed himself to a sitting position, crossing his legs before him, and ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it back out of his face.

They sat there in silence, Loki shaking off the residual tiredness from his nap, Thor simply sitting, content without words. Loki wondered how long he had slept. He knew Thor wouldn’t rouse him unless the situation were absolutely dire, especially not now when he could clearly see that Loki needed the sleep, and so he supposed it could have been hours.

“Did you ever tell her? Mother?”

Thor’s words sound foreign on Loki’s ears, and he blinked, bewildered. The question seemed almost too astute coming from Thor, but Loki decided to take it for what it was. “Yes,” he answered, almost apathetically.

“What did she do?”

“Nothing.”

Thor recoiled in shock. Loki knew this was hard for him to hear, to understand, and he felt for his brother. Thor was feeling the aftershocks of Loki’s tribulations, and Loki knew that this would drive Thor from their parents as well. He wasn’t particularly torn up over that, but seeing the pain Thor experienced upon uncovering this betrayal twisted Loki’s heart a bit.

Thor looked away, and Loki assumed he was sharing their mother’s guilt. “I’m sorry, Loki,” he said, his voice distant, and Loki sensed that he was pulling inwards to his thoughts.

“It’s not your fault, Thor,” he said plainly. “You had nothing to do with it.” He stared at his brother, trying to seek any kind of confirmation that his words were being heard, but Thor dodged his gaze, fixating on the floor, on the tips of his boots, instead.

Loki bit his lip. He knew Thor felt guilty by association. He was the son of Odin and Frigga, a true son, like Baldr, and therefore he felt responsible for the actions of his parents, even though Loki knew he had had no hand in engineering them. He supposed Thor would carry that guilt forever, afraid that his parent’s nature was also in his blood, frightened of the potential damage he himself could cause.

“You can’t pay for your father’s sins, Thor,” Loki said, doing his best to console his brother.

His statement registered with Thor, but didn’t have the desired reaction, for his brother’s brow furrowed more intensely, the worry lines at his mouth suddenly more pronounced. “When you say that…‘your father’…I….” Thor’s voice was shaky, hurt and confused, and he looked up at Loki with anxiety swirling in his blue eyes.

Loki blinked in surprise. He knew Thor feared that Loki did not consider them to be siblings any longer, despite Loki’s confession earlier. But Odin was not his father, Frigga not his mother. In his early days, they had been, but in two successive nights a month apart that had ended and Loki had been orphaned once more. Yet he considered Thor to be his brother, his closest friend and ally, regardless of blood.

“We aren’t related, Thor,” he said, and the statement was as painful to say as it was for Thor to hear. “But I…you will always be my brother, regardless of what may come.”

Thor seemed too afraid to move, to even blink or breathe, like a rabbit caught in a snare. Loki tilted his head forward.

“Do you believe me?”

His brother’s blue eyes searched frantically for nothing in particular, merely racing from spot to spot. Eventually they settled on Loki’s, drawn there by the pull of his brother’s gaze, and Thor stared at him for a long moment, truly stared, drinking in every drop of trust, of assurance, that Loki fed him before he gave the minutest of nods.

“Loki,” he began after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, “whose son are you? If…” Thor’s words trailed off, and a pregnant pause lingered in the air.

Loki leaned back, turning his hands over in his lap, focusing on his cuticles and the ragged edges of his nails. He had never given his own heritage much thought—it was something that had always made him uncomfortable, ashamed, something he had always tried to deny despite its gnawing demand for attention.

With a long sigh, he said, “I am Laufey’s son.”

“You’re….”

“Jotun, yes. Left to die as Jotunheim fell, but found and brought back to Asgard for…political purposes.” Loki winced at his own admission. He chased memories from his mind, memories of every expedition, every trip his brother had gone on to Jotunheim with the sole ambition of bashing skulls. Loki had never gone, obviously, too afraid that something would accidentally reveal his nature, and too horrified by the prospect of killing his kinsmen, no matter how vicious and feral they had been painted to be.

After a moment, he laughed softly. “It feels almost good to say that,” he said, and Thor cocked his head. Loki’s eyes drifted to his knees. “I’ve wanted to tell you for _years_ , to just say it and be done with it, but I never could.” When he looked back up, he expected to see relief, some kind of alleviation to his brother’s concerns, but instead he was met with an awful, unbridled despair, Thor’s teeth gritted in frustration.

“Forgive me, Brother, for I do not wish you dead, but,” he broke for a second, taking a rapid breath, “but I cannot help feel that you would have fared better had you died on Jotunheim that day and been spared the pain Father caused you.”

Loki’s mind couldn’t resist the temptation to indulge that fantasy. What would Thor’s life have been like had Loki not survived? Would Odin’s have taken his perversions out on Thor, on his golden son, without a convenient scapegoat? Would Thor have grown up to be the same man he was today, or would he have been as scarred as Loki was?

But Loki couldn’t deny that Thor had been the one bright spot in the crushing blackness that had consumed his life for a long time, and he asked himself if Thor’s friendship and brotherhood outweighed the years of pain and suffering and shame.

“Why did you never tell me, Loki?” Thor asked, and the question forced Loki to abandon his previous train of thought.

“Because…” Loki paused, suddenly flustered, “…because I feared you wouldn’t believe me.”

Thor flinched at his words as if he had been struck with a red-hot iron. Loki’s breath caught in his throat as he watched his brother, searching for signs of a reaction from him, but all he saw was his Thor’s lip tremble, and then Thor shut his eyes and buried his face in his palms, fighting off the tears Loki was sure were forming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” Thor said, leaning forward, pulling his hands away but letting his hair fall into his face. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Thor,” Loki said, trying to get his brother’s attention. He sensed Thor turning inwards, shutting down, being eaten alive by his guilt and self-hatred. “Thor, look at me.” Thor tried to turn his head away, but Loki nudged Thor’s jaw, forcing him to make eye contact.

“I have wronged you, too, Thor,” he said, as Thor strained to look away. He felt Thor tense beneath his fingertips, grinding his teeth together and setting his jaw. “I-I took advantage of you when you were drunk. I laid with you, even though—”

Thor silenced him by staring directly into Loki’s eyes, and Loki’s mind ceased to function right then and there. He closed his mouth, simply gazing back into his brother’s eyes, each of them pondering the grave misdoings they had imparted on the other. He knew Thor would not let go of his guilt for some time, and neither would Loki, but perhaps here they could reach some kind of understanding, some kind of promise to keep moving forward and not let their mistakes rule them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 10/20, the ending to this scene has changed, due to inconsistent characterization that was brought to my attention through comments. I apologize to anyone who had previously read the scene/chapter, because this is a drastically different take on it.
> 
> Thanks once again to Moiraine, and as well as bananabulldog. Both of you are wonderful support/holders of kleenex.
> 
> I apologize for how forced the _ergi/argr_ issue feels here. I had intended to bring it up in earlier chapters but somehow...never did.
> 
> Also, I'm considering making a playlist/fanmix for this fic, consisting of some of the music that inspired it and songs I think would fit it. Is there any kind of interest for this? I'd put the files up on mediafire for download if I did so.

With Thor at his side, Loki felt brave enough to leave his room once more.

They had scrounged through Loki’s clothes, finding things that weren’t ripped too terribly, Thor holding up a green shirt that had been torn at the neckline and the sleeve. Loki found that his black leather vest was relatively intact, and combined with an overshirt, the bits assembled into a somewhat presentable outfit. He tracked down a pair of boots that had survived rather well, and with those pulled on, they were ready to leave.

Loki felt a profound sense of relief that things were back to the way they had been, or as close to it as they could come now. Thor had always been his ally, his friend, his supporter once more, and his backing was the only one that Loki had ever needed, and truly the only one he had ever gotten. Losing it had upset him terribly, and Loki feared for his prospects if something grave were to happen to Thor. And now they were further bound together, his dark history a shared secret between the two, and neither would abandon the other. So Loki followed him, like a huntsman’s loyal dog, as Thor strode down to the hall that morning for breakfast once the sun was securely above the horizon and the birds had ceased their dawn chirping.

Thor’s friends had always regarded Loki with a nervous kindness, courteous to him in Thor’s company, but indifferent to him outside of it, and he knew he could not really turn to any of them in a time of crisis. Sif was the most sympathetic, but without knowledge of what had been done to him—knowledge Loki was _not_ going to give out—he doubted that even she would be very supportive.

Loki grimaced at the thought of the others knowing. It was a possibility that terrified him, that stilled the breath in his lungs and sent prickles across his skin, and he looked to Thor who gave him a reassuring smile despite the exhaustion in his eyes, one that chased away a fraction of his overwhelming fear.

If the others knew, they would consider him _ergi_ or _argr_ , the worst insult he could think of, the worst insult that existed in their society. To be a man and called _ergi_ meant that one was soft, weak, unfit to bear weaponry and suited to women’s work. Loki knew that most of the men around him, the men who were his brother’s comrades in arms, already thought Loki _ergi_ , for his slender frame and use of sorcery.

But there was another connotation to the word that Loki feared even more. _Ergi_ was also a derogatory insult to a man who assumed the passive role in a relationship with another man, and among warriors, it translated to a man who was too weak to prevent himself from being raped.

Loki was certain he would be viewed as such if anything ever came to light. The accusations of his status as _ergi_ were not without basis, but only Loki, and now Thor, knew of the awful, ironic truth to the insult.

He wondered how they viewed him now, what kinds of opinions those around him held, as Thor pushed open the hall doors and ushered Loki inside, to where Frigga, Baldr and Odin himself waited. He caught sight of Thor’s concerned glance as Loki entered the room, his brother anticipating Loki’s reaction, ready to lead Loki right back outside the room at the first sign of trouble.

But Loki steeled himself, casting a friendly glance and a quick smile at Baldr, who beamed in return, before giving Odin a blank look and Frigga a grin that was more of a grimace with fake affection plastered over it. Thor sat between Frigga and Loki, attempting to shield Loki from her, but she rose from the bench and rushed to him, planting a kiss on his temple and hugging him about the shoulders. He fought hard not to flinch and throw her off of him.

“I’m glad this fight between the two of you is finally resolved,” she said, pulling back at last. Loki gives her a partially relieved look, one that still carries animosity, but she seemed not to notice.

“As am I, Mother.”

She was satisfied with that answer, returning to her spot on the bench. She began to dote on Thor, remarking on his tired, puffy eyes, on his tangled hair, and Loki was grateful that she had passed him over to preen her favorite baby bird. Thor could handle it, could still stomach her touch, although he saw his brother flinch once. But he put on an unreadable mask until she had finished grooming him.

Loki pushed the food on his plate around. He could feel Baldr’s eyes on him, watching him in eager earnest. Baldr had always regarded Loki with a curious apprehension—Loki had never been as friendly to him as Thor had since the abuse started, but Loki still loved Baldr, and he kept him at arm’s length to avoid poisoning him with the anger, the sorrow, the anguish that he kept locked within him.

Baldr still regarded him with a curious apprehension, but Loki sensed admiration beneath it. It flattered him, truly, and he regretted the years he had ignored Baldr in cold silence, though in recent years he had begun to slowly warm up to him. Baldr still did not know of the tales Odin spun, the ones that involved his death at Loki’s hand, the ones Loki knew to be false. He would never intentionally harm his brother, not this kind, innocent child who sat across from him at the table and glanced at him sheepishly from time to time.

To Loki’s surprise, it was Thor who requested to leave the table first. Odin of course granted the request without a second thought, and Frigga frowned, clearly wishing to fuss over him a bit more. But despite her protest and her hand on his shoulder, Thor rose, looking to Loki, silently asking if he would follow him.

Loki was mildly bewildered, but he nodded, slowly untangling his legs from the bench. Thor waited for him at the doorway, and Loki cast one last jaded, resentful look at Odin and Frigga while Baldr looked on curiously, before joining him.

Thor pushed open the doors, his movements slower and more deliberate than normal, and Loki watched him with concern in his eyes. Thor was doing a poor job of concealing his lingering depression, and Loki was, for all his cunning, unsure of how to cleanse his brother of it.

Being around his mother and father had seemed to agitate Thor more, and Loki surmised that he would have to distract Thor during familial confrontations to avoid worsening his depression.  
He continued to shuffle, oblivious to Loki’s pensive gaze, his eyes vague and listless, focused on the floor and putting his steps in a line, one after another. Loki trotted after him, catching up to Thor after a few steps. He wanted to say something to comfort his brother, to pry a bit into Thor’s mind and perhaps attempt to remove what was cluttering up his conscience, but he doubted Thor would truly open up to him. Thor saw Loki as damaged now, and he wasn’t going to impart a burden of any kind on him for a long while.

He didn’t need to, however, for they only got partway down the hall before they were accosted by Sif, who greeted Thor with an eager smile and regarded Loki with an expression somewhere between shock and apprehension.

“We’ve been waiting for you in the west hall,” she said, addressing Thor and casting a suspicious glance at Loki.

“I….”

“You should go, Thor,” Loki offered. Sif’s brows furrowed in response.

Thor gave him a concerned glance. Loki returned a reassuring smile despite his tired eyes. Sif pointed from one to the other, trying to put the pieces together.

“Have you two…?”

Thor looked to her, and then back to his brother. “We have made peace. I…realized that my anger at my brother was misplaced, and that I had committed a grievous wrong against him myself.”

“Oh.” Sif seemed rather neutral about it, but she gave Loki a sly glance, one that almost seemed …relieved. “It’s good to see you again, Loki.” She gave him a nervous grin.

“And you, Sif.” Loki smiled, first at her, and then at his brother. “Enjoy yourself, Thor,” he teased, slipping past them to continue down the passageway.

For a brief second, some of the melancholy was wiped from Thor’s face, replaced by the cheer he normally wore, but it quickly clouded back over into this morose façade he had taken to wearing. It was enough, though, to give Loki hope that his brother was not entirely lost, that he hadn’t been completely disillusioned the way Loki had been.

\---

Thor ordered new things for Loki in secret. He found a tailor to commission for a whole new wardrobe, as well as to repair what he could from Loki’s old clothes, and he had stood with Loki the entire time as his brother was measured for new clothes, an embarrassed, indignant expression plastered on Loki’s face for the duration of the experience. He had been somewhat sullen about the experience for a few days, trying to tell Thor that he would just fix his clothes himself, but when the first ensembles arrived, his demeanor changed to one of quiet appreciation.

A carpenter was summoned, and the few pieces of Loki’s furniture that could be salvaged quickly were, and replacements for those that had been destroyed were ordered. They cleared the wreckage out of Loki’s room in the dead of night, concealed by Loki’s magic as they snuck through the palace and out to the grounds, burning them in a splendid bonfire where no eyes but Heimdall’s could see them.

Thor wondered what Loki had thought of while watching the materiality of his life go up in smoke, engulfed by bright orange flames in the darkest hours of the night. He was stoic the entire time, the golden light playing on his face, making the shadows around his eyes and near his jaw so much more dramatic, and Loki looked old and severe, robbed from the joys that should have been his at this point in life.

Thor knew his brother had been deprived of those luxuries. He had been forced to grow up literally overnight, tortured and burdened with a terrible secret, and the combination had prevented or outweighed any kind of genuine happiness he might have attained in life. Thor suddenly resented the carefree life he had led, all of the times his father had favored him over Loki, all of the times he had overlooked Thor’s wrongdoings and punished Loki with undue severity. Loki hadn’t deserved any of it. He was a prisoner within the palace, Thor saw, taken in infancy and bound to a life that had brought him undue strife and hardship.

And so Thor decided that he would take it on himself to make sure that Loki suffered no more. He would fight his brother’s battles and shield him from harm, be it in the form of words or weapons, and with or without Loki’s willing cooperation. He knew Asgard and the other Aesir would not take kindly to his defense of Loki, of the shame of the royal family, but Thor didn’t care. He knew he was next in line for succession, and no one would challenge his actions, less they incur his wrath.

Loki’s brave face had returned to him a bit. His brother still seemed resigned, as if he had come to the end of some long battle, war weary and scarred almost beyond recognition, ready to forget the horrors of the past and simply move forward. Thor intended to let him do so to the fullest of his abilities, providing ample social distractions for Loki, much to the chagrin of his friends.

He cared little for their protests, however, yet Loki often, nearly always, backed out of whatever event Thor invited him to, frightened away by the half-hearted gazes the Warrior’s Three tossed him. Thor didn’t push him too hard, respecting that Loki needed his space, that years of isolation and loneliness couldn’t be undone in a matter of weeks.

It was late, long after they had finished dining in the hall, Loki sneaking off the moment he was granted permission, Thor lingering to talk with his friends and Baldr, but eventually retiring to his room, too tired to keep up with their banter. Throughout the evening Thor was plagued by lingering thoughts of Loki, alone in his room, with only his thoughts for company, and so he decided to pay his brother a visit later that night.

After he had departed the others, he snuck off through the east connector, back to the hall that housed all of the royal chambers, standing before the gold doors to Loki’s room. Every time he saw them, every time he stood in this same spot, he couldn’t help the vague sense of dread that overtook him, and Thor decided to deprive it of time to percolate, instead rushing and pushing Loki’s door open.

Loki was there, waiting, sitting on the steps to his balcony with a book on his knees, but he looked up the instant the golden doors were nudged open, shutting the book with a well-defined _thud_. Thor pushed the door shut, leaning against it and surveying his brother while Loki returned an equally intense gaze.

“What are you reading?”

“It’s an old grimoire,” Loki offered, his hand tracing an emblem on the leather cover of the book. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“I’m sure it’s useful,” Thor offered, walking toward the center of the room and the dais his bed stood on. Loki frowned, still outlining the gold-embossed swirls on the book. Thor knew his brother had long been ashamed of his use of magic, that he longed to pick up weapons and train beside the others.

Thor finished crossing the room, sitting down beside Loki on the steps, glancing over at the ornately decorated grimoire, his brother’s hands scrambling to conceal the cover. Thor wished he could tell Loki to not be afraid of his nature, of his talents, but it would be fruitless, he knew—Asgard simply did not accept men who practiced magic the way Loki did. His father used it for divination, but it was just one of the many sources of wisdom Odin claimed, and so it was never a point of focus.

“What were you reading about in there?” Thor prodded after a moment. “What kind of…spells—”

Loki shot him a flat look. “What are you doing, Thor? What is,” he paused to wave his hand in a wild gesture, “all this?”

“What do you mean?”

“The attention. The invites. The sudden interest in whatever I do.”

Thor struggled to formulate an answer. “Can’t I appreciate my brother for who he is without being subjected—”

“No, Thor,” Loki snapped, rising from the stair. The book fell from his lap onto the stone with a _whump_ that sounded about the whole room. “Not when it’s like this. Because I know what you’re doing—you’re _pitying_ me. I don’t _want_ to be pitied, Thor, and I thought you would have known that.”

Thor looked up at him, hurt and a bit confused. “I’m sorry, Loki,” he stammered, but Loki’s face didn’t soften. “I didn’t mean for it to come across that way.”

“You know damn well you did, Thor,” Loki returned. There was less malice in his voice than Thor had anticipated, but it was still there, forcing each word to sting like a lash. “Because now I’m the helpless maiden to you, and you can’t resist protecting me, can’t resist showing the rest of the world how _strong_ and _mighty_ Thor is.” Loki snatched the grimoire once more, holding the tome in shaky, white-knuckled fingers.

“Loki, I didn’t mean—”

Loki raised the grimoire and threw it to threw it to the floor in one jerky, strained motion. It skidded across the marble toward the dais his bed sat on, coming to rest midway between Thor and the structure. Loki stood there panting with rage for a few moments, shoulders heaving, and Thor was just about to excuse himself from his brother’s chambers when Loki spoke again.

“I know you didn’t, Thor,” he said, “and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry.” He brushed his hair back, smoothing out the pieces that had fallen into his face as he glanced over at Thor.

Thor sat where he was, still petrified. “Don’t apologize, Loki,” he rasped. “I shouldn’t have pitied you.”

Loki’s face softened, and he turned his gaze away. “You’re the only one who has ever stood by me, and treated me as an equal. And I don’t want to lose that, Thor.” He swallowed, clenching his hand into a fist. “The rest of Asgard already sees me as weak and worthless. I just don’t want you to see me that way, too.”

“I promise you I won’t,” he whispered. “I only…I only wanted to protect you, Loki. I just thought you shouldn’t have to suffer anymore.”

Loki’s face fell a bit further as he evaluated his brother’s sentimentality. Suddenly he looked impassive, as he if he didn’t care, choosing apathy in the face of his problems, a look that was all too familiar on Loki’s face.

 _He doesn’t flinch as Odin berates him._

 _Instead he stares, stoic, at the floor, his eyes unfocused, and coupled with his marble skin, Thor could almost mistake his brother for a statue. Loki’s shoulders don’t even move—it’s as if he’s not breathing, just standing and enduring his punishment for however long it will last._

 _Idunn and her apples are gone, and it is Loki’s fault. He has lured her from the city and given her to the giant Thjazi, as repayment for Thjazi granting him mercy, and now all of Asgard is aging, the Aesir growing grayer by the day due to Loki’s machinations._

 _Of course, Loki knows he has done wrong—Thor can see it in his face. But he had little choice, dangled from an impossible height as the giant carried him off in the form of a bird. But Loki will fix it, as he always does, and Thor knows from the moment he was ordered to kidnap Idunn, his brother had a plan to get her back already forming in the back of his mind._

 _And now, as Odin stands there and berates his middle son, Thor can see the wheels of Loki’s mind turning, ready to enact his newest plot. When Odin finally casts him away with an abrupt yell and a demanding finger pointing at the throne room doors, Loki rushes away, eyes still locked on the floor, head down, but with some shred of dignity still about him._

 _He borrows Freya’s falcon shape (there’s something about shapeshifting into birds that Loki can never get right; Thor has watched him crash into the palace walls as a sparrow many a time) and sets off, and the whole of Asgard waits with bated breath for his return._

 _Thor worries, more than anything, about Loki’s safety. He doesn’t care about growing old and dying, but he can’t bear the thought of Loki being injured or killed on this wild rescue mission. If Loki doesn’t return in three days, Thor decides, he will set out after him and teach Thjazi a lesson himself._

 _But Loki returns on the second day, a bedraggled falcon carrying a nut in its talons, and the moment the falcon swoops in its final dive, hovering before landing, the feathers give way to reveal Loki, with Idunn at his side. Aside from looking tired and a bit windburned, neither is worse for the wear, although Idunn stalks angrily off when Loki turns to her._

 _Loki is discouraged, but he doesn’t care, because for a brief moment he is the hero, and a cry goes up around the palace denoting Idunn’s return. He revels in it, his eyes sparking in delight, and Thor claps and cheers for him, proud that Loki is his brother, is of his house, is of his blood._

 _When Odin appears, the cries fall silent instantly. He berates Loki, there, publically, telling him that he deserves none of the fanfare he receives, reminding him that it was through his own actions that they lost Idunn, and Loki hangs his head and nods weakly, digging his nails into his palms to fight the misting of his eyes. As soon as his father has finished degrading him, Loki flees back to his chambers, ignoring the concerned looks of various parties, fighting his way through the crowd until they part and let him pass._

 _Thor finds him there once the festivities have died down. Loki’s eyes are bloodshot, and he sits on his bed, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. He flicks his gaze at Thor when he enters, but says nothing, and his eyes flit back to the bedspread before him a moment later._

 _He sits beside Loki’s narrow frame, hesitant to put an arm around his brother, but as he begins to do so Loki does not stop him, so Thor lets his arm drape across Loki’s shoulders. Loki seems to shrink a bit under the weight, but Thor pulls him close. “You’re still a hero, Loki.”_

 _“No, I’m not. Not to Father.”_

 _“Despite what he says, you are,” Thor reassures. “I’ve never been prouder of you.”_

 _Loki relaxes a bit into Thor’s embrace, and they sit there, heedless of the rest of the world, blind to the trials and tribulations occurring outside their walls. For right now, Thor wants to let Loki revel in the simple joy of, for once, being the hero, without someone to remind him of his faults, of his shortcomings, and here, sheltered within his bedroom, he can do just that._

Thor knew that Loki didn’t need protecting, didn’t need sheltering. He had already seen the worst in the hearts of men, been subjected to brutalities that Thor couldn’t fathom, and it had been a vain gesture to try and shield him now. Loki, through years of suffering, had emerged far stronger and self-reliant than Thor had given him credit for, and by attempting to coddle him now, Thor had undermined all of this.

Loki seemed unsure of what to do now, eyes darting from his bed on the dais to Thor’s feet to the empty spot beside him. Thor knew he was torn between sitting on the bed, far away from Thor, and reemphasizing the point that he didn’t need Thor’s help, or sitting beside his brother once more and demonstrating the bond that they still shared.

Thor wanted to look up at him and attempt to sway his brother’s decision, but all of the courage had been bled from him at Loki’s outburst, and Thor simply stared at his hands, too afraid of another verbal lashing. But despite Thor’s lack of persuasion, Loki eventually broke down and shuffled over to him, sitting beside his brother with a weary expression on his face.

“I will never think you weak, Brother,” Thor said wearily.

“I know.”

“I’ve always been proud of you,” Thor elaborated after a moment. “When you rescued Idunn. When you returned from Brokk with the treasures. Always, Loki, no matter what happens, no matter what, I’ve been proud of you. And I’m sorry I haven’t always shown it.”

Loki glanced over, melancholy, and Thor’s hopes dashed for a long second until he whispered, “Thank you.”

“Don’t ever doubt it.”

Loki nodded, shakily, and Thor wondered just how much he believed him. He hoped Loki could find some truth in Thor’s words, and have some faith in them, but he knew that his pitying Loki had dealt serious damage to the progress he had made toward a semblance of normalcy in his life, one that Thor had just begun to coax out of him. He had prided himself on this, prided himself on the fact that Loki had trusted him so, and he feared that every step they had taken in the right direction had been undone in a brief, violent confrontation that Loki had been powerless to stop.

They sat in silence until Loki picked up the grimoire once more, and Thor knew it was a silent request for him to leave, and so he rose, striding across the room, not looking back at Loki, and slipped through the doors.

His brother uttered no protest.

\---

Loki didn’t want to alienate Thor.

He knew the consequences of losing his last friend, his last comrade, his last ally, would be especially grave, and the memories of lying nearly catatonic in his room for extended periods of time were too fresh in his mind. Loki, above all else, feared being alone, and the prospect of losing Thor over something so trivial as an outburst scared him. Thor had an innate instinct to protect—it was in his personality, and his upbringing had reinforced the idea that he would someday be caretaker to an entire realm, and while Loki longed for that himself, he did not want his brother guarding him out of pity.

Thor would take Loki’s words to heart. To the rest of Asgard, Loki might have been a liar and a cheat, but to Thor, Loki was infallible counsel. Others in the court had often chided Thor on his willingness to listen to the “shame of the gods,” but those words had never really deterred Thor, and so Loki had made it a point to never give his brother false advice.

But Thor had many others to advise him, and if Loki had ever given him bad counsel, it would have immediately been counteracted. Thor had family, friends, and brothers in arms, those who looked out for him, who had his best interests at heart. He was surrounded by people who respected him and looked out for him, and Loki knew he was just one amidst hundreds.

But Loki only had Thor.

He had tried to make friends at various points in his life. Other children had often found him either haughty or too strange for their tastes, or they sensed that Loki was weak and easy to pick on. As he matured from boyhood, Loki had given up the venture entirely.

Children were cruel. Loki knew that firsthand.

 _Loki hates the ringleader most of all._

 _He’s a fat boy of twelve, with a nose that turns up like a boar’s and an ugly smattering of freckles across his face, and curly brown hair that makes his chubby face look even rounder. Loki doesn’t know why the others follow him, why they take the orders of this selfish, spoiled brat, but he knows that if he wants to be accepted by them he cannot question their orders._

 _They’re the children of nobles, five of them total, including the fat boy. There’s a set of twins, a girl and a boy, with blonde hair who remind Loki of Frey and Freya, a tall, gangly boy like himself, and a shorter, hardier boy with dirt-brown hair. They play in the palace courtyards and grounds frequently when their parents have matters of the state to tend to, and Loki had watched them for weeks before finally mustering up the courage to talk to them._

 _He’s two years younger than the leader, but immediately this fact is seized upon and Loki is viewed as inferior, despite the fact that he is a prince and they technically are beneath him. They tease him for being a baby for a bit, but Loki sticks it out, determined to make this group like him at any cost._

 _Their leader tells him to meet them at the west courtyard the next morning. Loki is thrilled that someone besides Thor finally wants to spend time with him, finally values him enough to consider a friendship with him, and he is relatively sleepless that night. But when he spends all morning, and then early afternoon, sitting in the deserted courtyard, he knows he has been played._

 _He finds them later, by chance, as he is walking to the hall. No words are spoken, but Loki gives them a silent glare, and the ringleader feigns an apology. He tells Loki to come to the east courtyard, for, you see, he meant the east courtyard today, and to bring some of the sweetbreads from the kitchen, the kind you can only get in the palace._

 _Loki frowns, but decides that he has nothing to lose on it, so he says he will. Perhaps this mishap will be looked upon fondly one day, he thinks, as he laughs about it with this group of friends._

 _He hides the sweetbreads in a cloth the next morning, carrying the bundle out to the east courtyard, where his potential friends are playing. The gangly boy notices him first, and runs over, helping Loki carry his prize over to the stone benches. The cloth is promptly untied, and each child reaches for one, until there are two left, one for Loki, and one for the plump boy._

 _He’s about to take his share when a pudgy hand snatches both away. Loki looks up, confused and hurt, and the boy has already bitten into one. “You didn’t want this, did you?” he asks, and Loki stares down at the crumbs on the cloth._

 _“No,” he lies. It’s a lie worth telling. The children let him stay with them the rest of the afternoon. The twins, he discovers, can be quite nice, and the hardy boy reminds him a bit of Thor._

 _The next day, Loki brings more sweetbreads, but his share is again taken. The other children do nothing to prevent this, and they act like nothing has happened. It is in that instant Loki realizes that these children think they are smarter than he is, that they can simply toy with him and use him to procure treats for themselves. But he reasons that he can tolerate it so long as the children play with him. It’s not as if the sweets he brings them belong solely to him, anyway._

 _The fat boy eventually asks for more things. Now it is sweetbreads and candied plums (requested by the gangly boy), followed by morsels of smoked fish (the stocky boy), and ripe pears (the twins asked him for those), and soon Loki has to bring a basket to carry all of their damned tributes, which are quickly snatched up by greedy hands as soon as he sets the basket down each morning. The children begin to ignore him, giving him sullen looks when he attempts to run and play with them, and Loki realizes that he has use for them no longer._

 _He decides that rather than getting mad or upset, he will get even._

 _The next morning, the basket is extra heavy, and Loki sets it down and backs away with a pleasant, innocent smile on his face. The children all pick their goodies, eagerly stuffing themselves while Loki grins._

 _“Enjoying them?” he asks, and several nod enthusiastically, but the ringleader scoffs, finding Loki’s hoard inadequate as always. Loki snaps his fingers, and savors the drastic change in their expressions._

 _The sweets in their hands turn to worms, caked together with mud, and the little girl promptly begins to cry. Her brother tries to comfort her between fits of retching, and Loki laughs at the sight. The ringleader is so upset he has tears in his eyes, the sight of which forces Loki into further convulsions, snickering so hard tears begin to brim in his own eyes._

 _The stocky boy makes to strike him, but stops. Hitting a prince would get him into far more trouble than it’s worth, and both he and Loki clearly know it. So instead, Loki, still giggling, turns on his heel, and tells them they can keep the rest of the sweets._

Loki knew he was still bitter about such things. He had spent his life mostly alone because he refused to be toyed with, because others thought him weak or malleable and tried to capitalize upon it, and Loki was unwilling to tolerate anything of the sort. The way Loki saw it, anyone who thought him inferior wasn’t worth keeping as a friend.

Thor’s friends regarded Loki with a bit of apprehension, but he assumed that none of them truly looked down upon him. They were civil to him, respectful and considerate of his title, but he knew they held the same opinion of him that the rest of society did—at least in part—and he couldn’t entirely blame them for it. Loki had a hard time fighting his own stereotype when the only weapons available to him were the ones that reinforced it.

But with Thor at his side, they were very courteous. Loki thought Sif and Volstagg the friendliest (but in his opinion, Volstagg lacked enough judgment to distinguish friend from foe), and Hogun, while quiet, seemed to harbor a kind of respect for Loki, one which he assumed stemmed from the fact that he hadn’t been born and raised in Asgard. Fandral was quick to judge, and fickle, and Loki wasn’t particularly fond of him, but he was tolerable regardless.

It took some wheedling, but Thor eventually convinced Loki to leave the sanctity of his room and socialize for a bit, to come down to the hall that evening and join in the festivities. His face lit up like a child receiving a gift, and Loki half-rolled his eyes at the ability of his brother to find enjoyment in the simplest of things. But however reluctant, he still put down the current volume he was reading and followed his giddy brother.

He walked half a step behind Thor, letting his brother do the leading, and listening in on the side conversations of a pair of guards. Eventually he heard the voices of the Warrior’s Three drift forth from around a corner, and he perked up a bit.

“He said he’s bringing Loki tonight,” Volstagg said, cheery. “We haven’t seen him in…ages.”

“So the little _ergi_ decided to show his face again?” Fandral’s voice, haughty as always, and punctuated with a soft snort.

“Fandral!” he heard Sif object, inhaling sharply. “Loki’s not—you can’t _say_ things like that about him—”

Thor’s pace went from an easygoing walk to a sprint in seconds, rounding the corner before Loki had time to react, but he was sure the sight of Thor’s hulking frame, face twisted in what he assumed to be rage, had been what abruptly silenced Sif. The moment this realization hit him, he sprinted after his brother, but it was too late. Thor already had Fandral by the collar, snarling at him, hoisting the smaller man up so that his feet barely touched the ground.

“What did you call him?!”

Fandral stammered something incomprehensible. Loki watched in horror as Thor struck Fandral, hard, across the face, his knuckles connecting with the man’s cheekbone. He released Fandral as he fell to the floor, a mess of fur, blood and blond hair, but the man at least braced himself with his arms.

Loki was unprepared for what happened next.

Thor became a blur, a flurry of blows reigning down on Fandral with a fury Loki had only witnessed a few times in his life. “My…brother…is… _not_ … _ergi_!” he spat between strikes, and it was only a few seconds later that Sif and Hogun attached themselves to Thor, trying to pull him off.

“Thor, _stop!_ ” Sif cried. He flung Sif away, not caring about harming her, and that was when Loki knew he had to step in.

Thin hands wrapped around Thor’s upper arm and shoulder, tugging with all of the might he could muster, and Loki got a taste of the true power that lurked within Thor’s frame. All of his efforts were equivalent to a gnat attempting to move a boulder, and he found himself being dragged with Thor’s arm on its repeated path.

“Thor, please, _stop_ ,” he pleaded. “Stop this!” His nails were digging into Thor’s flesh, and his begging more desperate as the seconds dragged on.

“ _Thor, stop!_ ” It was half strangled sob, half desperate request, but it distracted Thor long enough for him to realize just what he was doing. His arm slowed mid-strike, and he stared curiously at the blood on his knuckles, before glancing at Loki, who was frantic, still pulling at Thor’s arm.

The others seized upon Thor’s loss of focus, Volstagg nudging Loki aside to pull Thor off, Hogun dropping down to help Fandral up. Sif assisted him, pulling Fandral’s arm over her shoulders, the dazed man looking weakly at Loki, who shifted his gaze to look at his brother, now fraught with shame.

“Volstagg, get him out of here,” he said curtly, and Thor was ushered from the hallway. Loki turned to Sif and Hogun, now helping Fandral to take short, uncoordinated steps.

Sif glanced back at him. “We’ll take him to the healing room.”

“Good idea,” Loki whispered grimly. His nails were digging into his palm, hands clenched in tight fists, as the reality of the insult set in. By law, he could have fought Fandral to the death over it, but Thor, oafish, stupid _Thor_ , had to step in, had to prove himself, had to defend Loki so vehemently that it would give the others cause to think that perhaps there was a shred of _truth_ to that insult.

Loki could have laughed it off. It would have stung, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he would have been accused of being _argr_. He wouldn’t have fought with Fandral, or even given him the satisfaction of seeing Loki distraught. Instead, he would have ignored it, acted above it, and painted Fandral a fool whenever he was presented the opportunity.

What hope was there, when the closest people he could claim as friends could barely stand him? When the one person who truly cared would never see him as something whole?

He trudged back to his room, feeling emptier with every step, until by the time he stood before his door he was void of any kind of hope, having bled any shreds of optimism along the way. What remained was a mélange of despair and misery, twisting and growing inside him and leading his thoughts down a dark path that Loki often fought to keep them off of.

This time, however, he could feel himself succumbing.

He shut the doors tightly behind him, his movements calculated and almost slow, with no hints of frenzy to them whatsoever, and the long seconds gave him time to ponder. Some whisper from the dark recesses of his mind told him to _lock_ those doors, _lock_ them so securely that no one would be able to breach them, and Loki summoned a spell, something quick yet hardy, to keep the doors closed. The tumblers would be useless—any fool with a hammer could smash through the doors in record time with a simple physical lock.

Once that task was done, Loki set his sights on the balcony.

In several swift, careful strides he crossed the room, standing before the railing, hands tracing the smooth marble, and gazing absently at the city far beyond him. Asgard did not want him. The parents that had raised him had fed him lie after lie until untruths were all he knew. His father had tortured him and his mother had condoned his suffering. Thor, his brother and sole confidant, saw Loki as nothing more than a helpless animal to defend.

Loki didn’t care anymore.

He hoisted one leg up, planting his foot securely on the railing, and then, using his hands to balance, pulled himself up on it. He wobbled for a moment, spreading his arms to steady himself, and then gazed sickeningly at the drop before him, the one that plummeted down to the churning, primordial waters below, the ones that flowed to the edges of Asgard, to the borders of the realm itself.

What, in all honesty, did he really have to lose?

This city wouldn’t mourn him. His parents would, beneath their feigned grieving, breathe a sigh of relief that the last loose end to their cruelty and ignorance would be tied up. Thor’s friends would comfort him in his sorrow, but behind their sympathetic eyes would be the realization that the familial yoke around Thor’s neck was now gone, gone forever, never to bother him again. Thor would mourn him, genuinely, and Loki knew that the loss would weigh heavily on him, at least for a time, but that his brother would be able to recover from that loss, supported by his friends and family.

It would be _so easy_.

So easy to leave behind this world and life of pain he had endured. So easy to escape everyone who had ever hurt him, everyone who thought him weak and _ergi_ and useless. So easy to let everything go, to be free of anguish forever.

Just one step.

That was all he needed.

One step.

\---

Thor’s thoughts were a static buzz as Volstagg led him away. He was aware of a voice in his ear, vague words drifting in, occasionally a phrase, but mostly Thor was simply replaying the horrific scene over and over in his mind, watching his fist drive into the Fandral’s face again and again, each time bringing more blood and more fury. How must he have appeared to the others? A hulking, relentless monster pinning down one of his oldest friends and beating him senseless—that was what Thor knew he had looked like.

Loki’s expression had been terrified and disappointed. Thor knew he would never forgive him for this. He had taken away Loki’s opportunity to defend himself, to show that he wasn’t _argr_ , not by any means, and by jumping to Loki’s defense Thor had all but verbally confirmed the accusation.

The awful sickening lurch of guilt hit Thor as he was forced to sit on his bed by Volstagg, still chattering idly away in an effort to distract his friend, despite Thor’s lack of response and blank look. He didn’t acknowledge Volstagg at all, and after a few more minutes, he gave up and sat beside Thor on the bed, just waiting and watching.

They remained in silence for a long time, Thor sitting with his hands in his lap, feeling the blood dry on them, a mixture of Fandral’s and his own, reminding him of just what he had done and just who he had hurt. His mind was a jumble of all sorts, mostly fantasies about how Loki would deal with him, how he would react to what had just occurred, how he would treat Thor from this moment forward.

Not a single one was optimistic.

Thor buried his face in his palms and sighed, his hair falling in a curtain around him and sealing the remaining cracks of his vision that his fingers allowed. Beside him, Volstagg sighed in sympathy.

“Fandral shouldn’t have said that about your brother,” he offered.

Thor inhaled sharply.

There were words left unspoken, they both knew that. Thor didn’t need to hear them right now, so Volstagg hadn’t added them, but they were aware of what should follow. _But it was Loki’s task, Loki’s right, to deal with him, not yours, Thor._

Thor didn’t pull his hands away until a knock sounded at the door, followed by the soft creak as it opened. When he did, it was to the sight of Sif as she padded into the room, her steps light and carefully placed, her face weary and concerned. Thor looked at her anxiously, wondering why she had come.

“How is he?” Volstagg asked, when it became apparent that Thor didn’t have the capacity for words at the present moment.

“The healer says he’ll be fine,” she said, folding her arms across her face. “Hogun’s still with him. He’ll stay until he wakes up.”

Thor’s thoughts jumped from one point to the next, but settled on something that should have occurred to him sooner. “Is Loki with you?” he asked, wondering if his brother had simply waited in the hall rather than face Thor.

Sif shook her head no. “I don’t know where he went.”

“He didn’t come with you at all?” Thor pressed.

“No,” Sif replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. She had a smudge of blood on her cheekbone from carrying Fandral, and a tiny spatter on her collar, but she hadn’t noticed either yet. “He stayed in the hall. I assumed he went to find you two.”

“Excuse me,” Thor said, rising from the bed. Sif was about to protest, but he pushed past her, slipping outside his doors before she could stop him. He would deal with Sif’s anger at his sudden departure later—right now, finding his brother was most important, even if Loki didn’t want to see him. Thor didn’t want to leave things with Loki the way they were, recalling his brother’s shocked, appalled face as Volstagg dragged him off. Combined with the argument they had had over Thor’s pitying of Loki, he worried that his actions this afternoon, if he didn’t set them right as soon as possible, might be enough to cause another fight with his brother.

When Thor reached Loki’s doors, he found that they would not budge, no matter how hard he pushed against them. The fact that they were locked, however, was a sure sign of Loki’s occupancy, and Thor knew his brother had sealed the doors with a spell. “Loki!” he shouted, striking one with his fist, the resulting _clang_ reverberating around the hall. “Loki, open the door!”

There was silence from within. Thor felt his heart leap into his throat, fear sinking into his bones. It couldn’t be too late, it simply couldn’t. He couldn’t have just sat idly by and let this happen… _But wait_ , Thor thought. The doors were still locked, and the spell required Loki’s concentration to keep them so. If they were sealed, his brother must still be alive, and conscious enough to be focused on keeping Thor out.

He pounded the door again, with his fist, ignoring the stab of pain that flared through his knuckles. “Loki! Loki, I know you can hear me!” he thundered between blows, but still, there was no response.

Thor was running out of options. He knew that if Loki were distracted, the spell would fail, and the doors would easily fall open. His only slim hope rested on drawing his brother’s attention off of maintaining the spell, and so, Thor pulled Mjolnir from his belt, swinging it into the door with all of the force he could muster. The resulting metallic twang hurt his ears, and he was certain it had startled Loki.

But still, the doors did not budge.

Thor rallied his strength and moved again, this time with several strikes in quick succession, the sounds echoing around the hall and mixing with one another, creating an awful din about the passageway, one he knew permeated the doors and his brother’s room. There were dents in the doors now, vicious, sharp ones, cut by Mjolnir’s edges as the hammer collided with the door, but Thor didn’t care. They could be smoothed out almost as easily as they had been put in.

And then, with one particularly vicious blow, the door cracked open. Thor seized upon the momentary lapse, shoving it wide before Loki had time to refocus, and striding into the room without regard.

He stopped three steps in, however.

Loki was perched on the railing of his balcony, hair and cloak fluttering ever so slightly in the wind, his gaze concentrated on the ground below him. Thor froze, every muscle, every fiber in his body locking up, tensing like an animal that has just seen the hunter. Loki paid him no mind, continuing to stare at the drop before him and the waters far below.

Neither moved for a long moment, until Loki finally spoke, his voice curt.

“Thor, you should go.”

“Loki, please, just climb down from there—”

“Thor, _go_.”

Thor swallowed thickly. “Loki, just get off the railing and then I’ll leave, I swear—”

“ _Go_ ,” Loki repeated, his teeth gritted and voice low, bordering on a snarl.

Thor inched closer to him, but said nothing in response. Loki’s eyes darted over to meet his figure, and Thor saw his brother’s whole frame tense.

“I said _go_ ,” he spat. “I hardly think you want to be here for this.”

“Loki,” Thor whispered, “ _please_.” He crouched slightly, resting Mjolnir on the floor, releasing the hammer’s handle and holding his hand out to his brother instead as he continued to creep forward, slinking up the steps to the balcony. He was only a few feet away from his brother now, close enough to attempt to snatch him if he liked.

Loki glared at him. “Just leave me, Thor.”

“No.”

Loki’s brows raised for a second in mild surprise. Keeping his eyes on Thor, his stare entirely unapologetic, he shifted his right leg, beginning a step forward, and Thor felt time itself slow as he watched his brother start to fall. He lunged for Loki, grabbing at whatever part of him he could find contact with, his heart sinking as fast as his brother was plummeting toward the turbulent waters below, hands now pulling at loose clothes until his grip closed solidly around Loki’s forearm, his brother’s weight dragging Thor half over the balcony himself.

He braced his feet, stopping Loki’s fall and his own, using his free hand to clutch the railing as he started to pull his brother up. Loki twisted, trying to pull his arm free, his expression desolate and frenetic in the same measure.

“Thor, _let me go!_ ” He paused, fruitlessly struggling once more. “You great, stupid moron, _let me go!_ You’re nothing but a coward, Thor, just let me drop and be done with it!”

Thor was too focused on hauling Loki back up to solid ground to care about his brother’s verbal barbs. Loki was light, but his incessant wriggling, coupled with the ill way his clothing fit him, made it hard to hold him, but Thor eventually got a solid hold on his upper arm as well and simply dragged him up, tightly restraining Loki with his arms the moment his feet touched the marble floor.

He continued to fight like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, but Thor was undeterred, grappling his brother into submission and slowly reaching for Mjolnir, all while Loki scratched and clawed and struck Thor, leaving bruises and cuts on any exposed skin. He wouldn’t hit his brother with the weapon, but he would use it to his advantage, and the moment it was in his hand Thor wrestled Loki to the ground, pinning his brother on his back, and placed the hammer squarely in the center of Loki’s chest.

Loki thrashed at him, his efforts now renewed, and he let out a terrible cry upon realizing that he was stuck to the floor like rabbit in a snare, Thor sitting on the floor beside him and trying to regain his composure. “Thor, you _bastard_ ,” he seethed. “You’re nothing but a selfish brute, pinning your…your weakling, _ergi_ brother to the floor with that damned hammer of yours!”

Thor had had enough. And so, with hands that were still trembling in fear, he struck Loki, hard, across the face, and he did not regret doing so.

Loki silenced at once. The only sound he made was a soft, startled cough, followed by a swallow. His brother’s whole frame went slack.

“Be quiet, Loki,” he warned.

“Hitting me to shut me up never worked so well for Odin, you know,” Loki hissed. Thor felt a wave of disgust hit him, at both his own actions and those of his father, years ago, and he dropped his gaze, ashamed and sickened.

“You’re a coward, Thor,” Loki continued, clearly lacking any kind of regard for his brother’s shaken state. “Too cowardly to kill me before when I asked you to, and too cowardly to let me finish it now.”

Thor let out a ragged breath and shut his eyes, his hands clenched into fists, nails digging so hard into his palm that his knuckles were stark white against his tan skin. There were tears now, ones of fear at how very close he had come to losing Loki and ones of shame at his brother’s verbal onslaught, but they were a poor deterrent, for Loki continued on, apparently not discouraged in the slightest.

“And now, you strike me like he did, when I am _powerless_ to fight back, just as I was _all those years ago_. Like father, like son, Thor, like _father_ , like _son_.”

Loki fell silent for a moment, and Thor wondered if he were savoring his undoing, satisfied in his work, enjoying the sight of Thor weeping like a child, but he wouldn’t grant his brother the luxury of a glance because Thor feared the prospect of being greeted by the malicious, relentless smile he knew Loki was capable of.

“Why are you so selfish, Loki?” he choked out at long last.

“Me?” Loki questioned, incredulous. “Me, selfish?” He snorted.

“Yes, you,” Thor corrected. “You, who were about to fling yourself from your balcony, with absolutely _no_ regard for those who care for you—”

“Because _no one_ cares for me, you stupid—”

Thor turned to look at him with a gaze stranded somewhere between anguish and unbridled fury. “So I am no one, then? Baldr and Sif and Volstagg—are they ‘no one,’ too?”

Loki looked taken aback. Thor savored his expression and continued on. “Oh, yes, Loki. Sif actually used to quite fancy you, did you know that? Right up until you cut all of her hair off.” He shook his head. “Did you truly think _no one_ would mourn you? No one at all? Not even _me?_ ”

“I….”

“ _That_ is why you are selfish, Loki.” Thor’s nostrils flared as he tried to drain some of the emotion from his voice. “Because you think the only life you will be ending is your own.”

Loki blinked, stupefied, and tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling, unable to stand Thor’s scrutiny of him any longer. They sat that way for a long, long while, neither willing to speak, the only sounds in the room consisting of Loki’s occasional sighs and Thor’s uneven breathing, which eventually slowed to regular, deep breaths, the tears on his cheeks drying, the anger, sorrow and fear in his soul beginning to bleed away.

\---

Eventually, Loki broke their stalemate. “The damn hammer is crushing me,” he rasped.

“I don’t care.”

“So you’ll pull me up from certain death, only to leave me to be squashed like a bug under your precious Mjolnir?” Loki snickered. “How fitting.”

“I’m not taking it off of you.”

Loki was quiet for a long minute before he offered a simple, “Please?”

“No.”

Loki’s lips narrowed into a thin line. “Why not?”

“I don’t think I can trust you, Loki.”

Loki laughed cynically, ignoring the strain that Mjolnir imparted into his ribs from the exertion. “You don’t trust me? You don’t trust _me?_ You don’t _have_ to trust me! I’m not a child! You don’t _own_ me!” Loki strained his neck, staring at his brother, whose eyes were once more wide in horror at Loki’s outburst.

“ _My_ life is _my_ own, to do with as _I_ please, and that _includes_ ending it,” he continued through gritted teeth. “And how _dare_ you call me selfish! I’m _selfish_ because I want out of this? Because it would hurt _you?_ Come back to me, Thor, and call me selfish when you’ve endured what I have, and then perhaps I’ll consider listening to you.”

Thor turned away from Loki, hunched up now, and Loki reveled in the sight. “Not so mighty now, are you, Brother?” Loki quipped sardonically. He let his head drop back onto the marble, point made, but the sounds of shuffling told him that Thor had moved again, probably further from Loki, shielding his face at all costs. It was a pitiable effort, Loki knew, for despite all of his strength, despite his prowess on a battlefield, Thor was completely at the mercy of Loki’s wit and words, stabbing and slashing at him like the worst kinds of weapons.

Snuffling followed, and when Thor spoke, his voice was small and wavering. “I’m sorry, Loki,” he murmured, “but how am I supposed to picture a world without you, and accept it? How am I supposed to—”

“It’s not your choice to make!” Loki retaliated, lifting his head once more. He saw Thor flinch at the words, cringing and dipping his head. “This is _my_ life, Thor, and you are not the one who gets do decide _how_ I live it, if I even live at all!”

He stared at Thor angrily, waiting for a response, for acknowledgement of any kind. He wasn’t sure how long Thor could stand this verbal lashing before he struck Loki again. But all he got in reply was Thor’s breathing, strained and irregular and rasping.

When his neck hurt too much, he dropped his head again, staring at the ceiling. “Why do you even care, Thor?” he continued to pester. “Why does it matter so much to you? If you claim to love me so much, why not let me have this?”

He lay there for a few minutes, still wanting an answer, but none came. “Why not, Thor?” he pressed, his voice scratchy from his previous excitement.

“Because I am selfish, Loki, as you said,” Thor returned. His voice was wounded, and from the sounds of it, he was still teetering on the edge of a sob.

“Then please, Brother?” Loki rolled his head to stare down at Thor.

Thor shuddered so viciously that Loki felt it. “No. I can’t.”

“I hate you, Thor,” he retorted, words dripping venom. “I hate you, and you’re a coward.”

Thor didn’t bother to say anything. Instead, he moved farther from Loki’s spot on the floor, and simply sat, deep in thought. Loki gazed at the ceiling. If he tilted his head back, he could see the headboard of his bed, standing on the dais, and some of his shelves, but he was too far from anything that might entertain him.

It felt like hours had passed between them. Eventually Thor’s wheezing stopped, and he was perfectly silent for a long while. Loki sighed punctually, like a petulant child, in order to break up the dead air in the room and remind his brother of the stupid weight on his sternum, but Thor took no note of it.

“If I take Mjonir from your chest, Loki, can you promise me something?”

“If it’s within reason.” Loki tilted his head to glower at Thor, boredom in his eyes.

Thor brushed a strand of stringy blond hair from his face, and when Loki caught sight of his eyes he could see that they were bloodshot and tired. “You won’t do anything until dawn.”

“What?”

“You can fling yourself from the balcony, hang yourself, whatever you’d like to do, I don’t care, but please promise me that you’ll wait until morning. Promise me that I can have a few hours more with my brother.”

Loki balked at the idea of being forced to barter for his freedom, but Thor wasn’t driving a particularly hard bargain. “Yes,” he choked out. “I agree.”

Thor sighed and leaned over him, avoiding Loki’s gaze, and grasped the handle, yanking the hammer free as though it were nothing, not the solid, immovable object Loki had just become so intimately acquainted with. The loss of crushing pressure on his chest was a welcome relief, however, and Loki inhaled sharply, feeling his ribs expand and enjoying the sensation.

After a few moments he sat up, studying Thor, who had his back partially turned to Loki, Mjolnir resting on its head between his legs, and Thor was idly tugging the strap at the end, his eyes listless and vacant. Loki moved to sit beside him, but Thor scooted an inch away, and Loki shot him an incredulous look.

“What’s wrong with you?”

No response, just silence, and the occasional squeal of the leather strap in Thor’s hands.

“So you’re not even going to talk to me now, are you?” Loki pushed at his brother’s arm, but Thor still did not react. “You barter for my company until dawn, and then you decide to spend it like this? You’re a fool, Thor.”

Thor blinked, but it was a dead gesture, like that of a cow or of the tiny green frogs they had caught on the palace grounds as children. Sighing, Loki rose from his spot and walked to the dais, reaching up onto his bed to pull one of the thick blankets off of it. He carried it back to Thor and draped it over his brother’s shoulders, expecting Thor to take it and wrap it around himself, but he did no such thing. Loki was forced to pull it around Thor, trying to secure it at the front so it wouldn’t slip off.

He stepped back, surveying his handiwork, and snorted at the irony of his situation. Here he was, the weakling playing nursemaid to his oaf of a brother, the wounded, frail sibling forced to care for the radiant, golden child. He found Thor’s state infuriating—Thor had, after all, sworn to protect him and care for him, and now he was sitting there like a dumb animal. Thor had been torn to shreds by nothing more than Loki’s words, reduce to a sniveling child by a few sharp, well-put comments. How could he expect to be the future leader of Asgard, of the shining treasure of the nine realms themselves?

“You’re far too weak to be king, Brother,” he chided, sitting on the bed and pulling his boots off. He tossed them in Thor’s direction, trying one last time to elicit any kind of action from Thor, but his brother didn’t even flinch.

Loki curled up on the bed, watching Thor for a few more painful seconds, and then turned over, his back to his brother now, wishing he could remove Thor from his thoughts as easily as he had removed him from his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two notes- First, the story this time is the theft of Idunn, minus the death of Thjazi and Skadi's quest for vengeance (Skadi is around, I have mentioned her at points). It's another one of my favorite Loki stories and a perfect example of his causing problems and then solving them a moment later, and I absolutely wanted to include it. The second is a note on Baldr. Baldr is never revealed in the movie, and in the comics he is not a child of Odin and Frigg, but rather a sort of noble warrior of Asgard. I've made him their child for a specific purpose in here, one that I'll reveal in some upcoming chapters.
> 
> In terms of ergi and argr-the way I've written the society of Asgard and the Aesir coincides with a migration-era Viking society (to my limited knowledge), and I've tried to paint the insult as the way they would have viewed and used it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 10/20, the ending to the last chapter changed. If you read it within 24 hours of my update, please make sure you didn't miss this rewrite--it's rather important and starkly different from the original posting, and not a lot of the new chapter will make sense without it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to continue this fic after my crisis of faith, especially Japankasasagi, RhineGold, GingerMaya, bananabulldog, and my wonderful beta Moiraine. I couldn't do this without you guys,so thank you again. :)
> 
> A few things before the chapter:
> 
> Flyting is a Norse term that refers to verbal battles of wit. I use the term quite a bit in this chapter. Bragi is the Norse god of poetry as well, married to Idunn, so don't be confused when I namedrop him. :) Tafl and tablut are actual old Norse games, typically played outdoors. I included them because I couldn't find a lot on any kind of board or card games the Norsemen played.

Thor didn’t come back to himself for several hours.

When he finally escaped from the void of numbness he had been adrift in, he was greeted by a thick wave of grief, one that threatened to reduce him to an anguished wreck here on Loki’s black marble floor, and he would wake his brother if he let himself succumb, so Thor choked back his sorrows for the time being.

The second emotion to announce its unwelcome presence was a crippling fear, one that turned his skin cold and grabbed his heart in an icy vice, squeezing and sending aches around the cage of his ribs. _Loki was right_ , he thought, dread building in his veins, congealing there, a poison that threatened to end him if left unchecked.

“ _Like_ father, _like_ son.”

Thor had no desire to be like his father. At one time, he had respected and admired the man, finding his father wise beyond all others, and possessing the courage of a thousand men. When Thor was small, he’d wanted to grow up to be as fine as a ruler as Odin was.

But now the thought of turning out anything like his father made Thor simply want to lean over and vomit, especially now that it seemed like he was.

Loki hated him for it. No, hate was too kind a word, Thor realized. Loki _abhorred_ him.

The revelation broke something deep within Thor. He had failed whom he had vowed to protect, had turned his brother into an enemy, had subjected a loved one to further suffering. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he find where his intentions went awry, and why couldn’t he see how to remedy it any time soon? He knew that lingering around Loki and attempting to further help him would only result in agony for both parties, and as much as it hurt him to do so, he knew he would have to distance himself from his brother, at least for a time.

It would be for the best, Thor told himself.

The blanket began to fall from his shoulders, and Thor let it, wriggling completely free a few minutes later. It slipped to the floor almost silently, and he rose, careful to keep quiet as he did so. Mjolnir was picked up soundlessly, and Thor crept across the floor, casting one glance at Loki when his brother stirred slightly in the bed. He doubted Loki would wake—his brother was exhausted, he _had_ to be. Even Thor was ready to drop, and he hadn’t been as worked up as Loki had been.

He pulled the door until it was nearly closed, aware that shutting it would cause enough noise to possibly rouse Loki. The hallway was dim, lit only by torchlight, as it was still several hours till dawn, but Thor could still see well enough to find his way. He left the corridor and headed down to the stables, deserted at this time of night, and grabbed the first horse he could find, quickly throwing some tack onto it, haphazardly doing the buckles and fastening the bridle.

He mounted, and kicked his horse into a canter, setting out over the plain of Idavoll. It would take him a short while to cross it and head to the Bifrost and Himinbjorg, but he would be there before the first light of dawn was breaking.

He didn’t have much of anything to think of during the ride, instead trying to occupy his mind with the rhythmic sounds of his horse’s hooves. His consciousness drifted, however, choosing to replay scenes from the awful argument he’d had with Loki earlier that night, scenes which stamped guilt and truth onto Thor as clearly and painfully as a brand.

When Himinbjorg appeared on the horizon, Thor locked his eyes on it, refusing to let his gaze wander, lest his thoughts begin to meander, too.

Loki hated him.

Thor would just have to accept that.

He dismounted and tied the mud-brown horse he’d borrowed to a post, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm before stumbling to the door of the hall. Somewhere, in the distant, foggy recesses of his mind, a voice told him that this could have waited until morning, but Thor was tired of leaving things to chance, if even for a short while.

Roughly, he hit the great wooden door with his fist in a brutish imitation of a knock. When he heard no sounds from inside, he repeated the gesture, now punctuating it with a cry.

“ _Heimdall_!”

He struck the door a few more times, losing hope with each subsequent blow, until he was whining outside like a child. He was about to give the door one last rap when it opened, iron hinges creaking terribly as it swung inwards.

Thor dipped his head, slightly embarrassed, when Heimdall glowered at him. Thor was still a prince, however, so he didn’t berate him, but his gaze was scathing enough.

“Why have you come?” he asked, impatient.

Thor brushed his hair from his face. “I need your help,” he said weakly.

“This can’t wait until morning?”

“No.” After a moment, he added, “You know what this is about.”

Heimdall looked to the floor, and when he tilted his head back up, his face was laden with worry. He stepped back from the door, however, and ushered Thor inside. Once beyond the threshold, Thor sought out the nearest seat, which happened to be a bench at the dining table, and promptly collapsed on it. Heimdall stood for a moment, before sitting on the bench a space away from Thor.

“What is your request of me, then?” he asked, staring directly at Thor. It was unsettling, and Thor took a few moments to compose himself before responding.

“I need you to keep an eye on my brother. Watch him. And if he…if he does something like he did tonight, if he means to take his own life, I want you to alert me.”

Heimdall sighed. “I do not think that is a wise notion, my lord.”

“Why not?” Thor leaned forward, a mixture of urgency and frustration seeping into his features. “You owe this to him, Heimdall, and to me, after…after you let it go on like that for years.”

Heimdall’s eyes flitted to the floor, and then back up to Thor. “I fear the repercussions if your brother, or your father, were to find out.”

Thor scowled. “Why would they even have to know?” he snapped. “This is between you and me, Heimdall. We need not involve a third party.”

Heimdall grimaced slightly, and Thor could still sense his hesitancy. “Unless you tell someone, no one will know.” After a moment, he added, “And I will take responsibility if someone does find out.”

The gatekeeper’s brows raised slightly. Thor narrowed his eyes.

“Heimdall, above all else, you owe this to him. You…you let that monster _torture_ him for years, without uttering so much as a _word_ of protest, or a word to _anyone_ that may have been able to help him. Did you intend to just let it sweep itself under the rug? What did you think was going to happen?” Thor’s voice dropped to just above a whisper, suddenly less accusing and simply grave. “It _destroyed_ him, Heimdall. There is someone I don’t recognize walking around in my brother’s skin in that palace, and it’s because of _that_.”

The other man was unresponsive. Thor waited for a long moment, formulating arguments in his head, ready to continue with his case, when Heimdall nodded, minutely at first, but then more assured.

“I will send word to you then, my lord, if his situation looks dire.”

“Thank you, Heimdall.”

Heimdall returned an impassive gaze. Thor stood, his legs aching with fatigue, and headed toward the door. Heimdall made no motion to show him out, instead remaining where he sat, his face stoic and empty. Thor frowned at the sight of him before pushing the door open and slipping out into the creeping light of dawn. His horse was still tied to the post, and he unlooped the reins with fumbling hands, using what little strength he had left to mount once more.

The ride back went much quicker than the ride out, mostly because Thor felt himself beginning to fall asleep, lulled by the rocking motions of his horse. He considered putting the poor animal in the stables still clad in the tack, but the horse’s liquid brown eyes convinced him otherwise, and he pulled off the saddle and bridle, leaving them in a heap outside the stall.

By the time he found his own room once more, his vision was swimming and he stripped down to his undershirt and simply fell on his bed, not bothering to crawl under the covers. He knew he would be asleep in moments, so there was no sense in trying to get comfortable.

Thor sighed, shutting his eyes and burying his face into one of his soft pillows, wondering briefly if when he woke he would finally be free of this nightmare he had come to call reality, a nightmare in which his brother, a victim Thor had only wanted to help, despised him; a nightmare in which his father, a man Thor had idolized, was a twisted wretch; a nightmare in which his mother, a woman who had nurtured and loved Thor, had aided and abetted a monster.

As unconsciousness washed over him, Thor prayed his sleep would be dreamless.

\---

Loki woke well after dawn the next morning.

The sunlight was streaming brightly into his room, and he buried his face in the pillows to hide for a long minute before finally accepting that he would have to rise. It was only then that his thoughts turned to Thor, and he scrambled to sit up, scanning his room for his brother, but finding only the crumpled blanket resting in a heap where Thor had been. Loki blinked, stupefied, and reassured himself that the events of last night _had_ actually happened—the blanket here was proof enough.

He assumed Thor had gone back to his room and fallen asleep, and would turn up the next morning to stuff himself at breakfast the same way he always did. There wasn’t any real need to worry about Thor, Loki convinced himself. He would be fine.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he rose from his bed and started to make his way to the bath chamber, giving his balcony a serious look as he passed. Thor was gone…there was nothing to stop him now, not a single soul to utter a word of protest. Loki could simply climb up and be gone with a single step.

But something held him back. Some invisible chain bound him where he stood, and anger flooded Loki, anger at what may have been his own cowardice, what may have been a latent care for Thor and a desire to see him not suffer, what may have been a faint glimmer of hope in regards to the future. He shook it off, continuing into the bath chamber, cursing himself for whatever reservation had stopped him.

In a perverse way, he would have liked to see the fallout his death would have triggered, especially with Thor. He knew it was wrong to harbor this ill will towards his brother—Thor cared deeply for him, and even though his caring was misguided, he was still completely devoted to Loki’s wellbeing. But that didn’t mean that his brother was excused. Thor was an idiot, one who never considered the repercussion of his actions, and Loki hated his brother’s lack of foresight, especially now, when Thor was blundering about through Loki’s affairs as if they were his own.

Buried beneath his admiration and love for Thor was a layer of sheer resentment, one that Loki had allowed to surface in recent times, unearthed by his brother’s actions in the past few weeks. Loki had always harbored animosity towards Thor for not stopping the abuse, for being so ignorant about it and Loki’s plight, even though he knew that Thor had been a child as well at the time, and would have been unable to do anything even if he _had_ known. He knew the anger was misplaced, that he should truly be furious with those who had known and _could_ have stopped it—Frigga and Heimdall, at the very least—and not his brother, who had only held Loki in high regard.

But most importantly, he was angry at Thor because Thor had been spared.

Thor hadn’t endured the long nights of fear, hadn’t been held down and taken against his will, hadn’t been forced to pleasure the man who raised him. Thor hadn’t had to lie about why he was so afraid of being touched, hadn’t been made to wear long sleeves to hide bruises left on his arms, hadn’t had to pretend that he still loved his parents even when he couldn’t stomach the sight of them.

Thor had always been seen as better in Odin’s—in _everyone’s_ —eyes. That was why he hadn’t been subjected to this, and what hurt Loki most of all was the fact that nothing he had done, nothing he could have done, would have changed this perception at all. Loki was always second class, the throwaway child who was more pawn than person, and what kind of a state he lived in mattered little to those who raised him. The only thing that mattered was that he still lived.

He washed and dressed while mulling it over, preening himself in the large mirror Thor had gotten him to replace the old one. He knew others thought him vain, but what they took to be vanity Loki merely saw as making himself acceptable for the eyes of Asgard. He wasn’t attractive in his own eyes—a gangly mess of too-thin limbs and sharp, bony joints. And so Loki never let himself leave his room without making sure there wasn’t a speck on him to mar his appearance.

Sighing, he stared at his doors briefly before pushing one open. They were hopelessly dented, smashed in by Thor’s merciless beating, the shape of Mjolnir’s head impressed at various angles in random spots. He frowned, surveying the damage both inside and out, and decided he would force Thor to find someone to fix the doors the next time he saw his brother.

He was still fussing over them when a voice called out, and Loki jerked to attention at the sound of his name.

Sif was at the end of the hall, rushing toward him in a swift jog. “I was hoping I would find you,” she said, a relieved smile on her face.

Loki drew his mouth into a line, absentmindedly running one hand down the dented surface of his doors. “Lady Sif.” A pause. “Are you looking for my brother?” he asked flatly.

“No,” Sif refuted, looking mildly offended for a brief second. “I was looking for you, actually.”

Loki dropped his hand from the door. Sif swallowed before continuing, staring at Loki’s shoes, unable to meet his unenthused gaze.

“I…I came to apologize for yesterday.” She brushed a lock of dark hair that had escaped her tie away from her face, looping it behind her ear. “What Fandral said…he’s the only one that feels that way. I don’t…I’ve never thought of you like that, and neither have Hogun or Volstagg. I just wanted you to know that we’re sorry on Fandral’s behalf.”

Loki lowered his gaze until Sif peeked up at him, eyes darting instantly to the side as they met Loki’s. He was unsure of how to take her comments—she and the others had always sort of avoided him, but he had sensed no true malice there, just the fact that they were closer to Thor and regarded him as the pestering younger brother, much as they did Baldr. Perhaps they truly had more respect for him than he had thought.

Or perhaps Thor had sent her. He would interrogate the great blond dolt about it later.

His silence perturbed her, he could tell, and she shuffled nervously from foot to foot. Social graces had never been a strong point of Sif’s—she could handle a sword and shield better than most men, but conversation and negotiation, considered in Asgard to be a truly feminine art, eluded her.

“Thank you,” was all he had to offer. Sif’s shoulders relaxed visibly, and she sighed, watching Loki as he turned to depart.

“Loki,” she called again, and he stopped, twisting to look at her. Sif was twisting her hands nervously, fingers looped together. “I know what it’s like. To…to be called _ergi_.”

He blinked. The thought of calling Sif, who was a shieldmaiden more capable than most of the Einherjahr Odin recruited, _ergi_ struck Loki as almost blasphemous. Sif, being a woman, was exempt from the duty of bearing weapons and defending the populous. She had chosen to do so, chosen this lifestyle, of her own free will, determined to prove her strength and prowess in the eyes of Asgard. That anyone would call her _ergi_ simply because she was a woman seemed…unfathomable, at least to Loki, but he supposed some hurled the insult at her, jealous of her skills, determined to break her resolve by any means necessary.

And so Loki gave an understanding nod, one that brought Sif’s tiny smile back for a second. She waited, expecting him to comment, but he had nothing to say. Instead he murmured another, “Thank you,” followed by an inquiry as to his brother’s whereabouts.

“I haven’t seen him all morning,” Sif answered plainly. “He didn’t come down to eat with us today.”

Loki nodded twice, curtly, thanking Sif once more. He was waiting for her to leave when she spoke once more, sheepishly staring at her shoes again as she did so.

“Do you…do you perhaps want to spend the day with us, instead?” She looked up quickly, eyes wide with anxiety. “Fandral won’t be around, of course,” she clarified.

Loki frowned for a moment. He was certain she was simply asking him out of guilt, not out of the kindness of her heart. Any connection that might have existed between them had been severed along with the golden locks of her hair Loki had sliced.

“I….” He was about to deny her request when he realized that he had nothing to lose. Let Thor act the spoiled brat, hiding in his room and waiting for others to come crawling to him, for Loki would not be among them. “I’d like that.”

Sif’s smile was almost scintillating. And Loki found he rather liked it.

\---

Loki knew Thor was waiting for him.

He sensed his brother’s presence before he even opened the mangled doors to his room, could feel his brother’s aura as he set his hand on the metal handle, could detect the air of masculinity and brute force as he began to push the door inwards. He wasn’t shocked at all when he was met with the site of Thor, sitting on the bed, staring at his knees. Loki strode to a point halfway between his brother and the door, and then stopped, folding his arms over his chest, and simply waiting.

Thor looked up at him after a second, almost struggling to lift his head, his shaggy blond hair parting around his face. “Brother,” he whispered, and Loki could tell from his tone that Thor was still deeply shaken, still unsettled by the events that had transpired last night.

Instead, Loki opened with a curt, “Yes?” He had no desire to see Thor at a time like this, not when the mere sight of his brother stirred anger from deep within him, anger he was just beginning to become reacquainted with.

“I….” Thor’s head dropped again, and his face was obscured once more by his hair, but Loki reasoned he could read his brother well enough from the tone of his voice. “I came to apologize, and….”

Loki tapped his foot impatiently as his brother stalled. The sooner Thor was gone, the better, he reasoned. If it came down to it, Loki was not above throwing his brother out forcefully by means of a few well-said jabs.

“I’m sorry,” Thor said, rushed. “I’m sorry I ruin everything between us, that I ruin whatever chances you have for some kind of peace.” He paused to draw in a shaky breath. “I want you to heal, Loki, but I don’t know _how_ to help you and any time I try I make things abysmally worse.”

Loki snorted, tilting his head, but waited for Thor to continue.

“So I will be here for you, Brother, if you have need of me, but otherwise I…I will not interfere.” Thor swallowed thickly, and Loki was resentful that he couldn’t see his brother’s face, couldn’t see the tears welling up in his eyes, couldn’t see the delicate tremble of his lower lip.

Loki let his eyes linger on his brother, his stern gaze locked on Thor and Thor alone, until something became too much for his brother and he rose, fleeing from the room like a skittish coward. Loki watched him go without a word, deciding that he didn’t need to waste any effort on tossing an insult after his brother.

How typical of Thor, he thought, to run from what threatened him, from what challenged him, from what frightened him, and above all, from what he did not _understand_.

\---

His fledgling independence was something he didn’t know how to nurture, a tiny flame that he was attempting to shield and fan at the same time. Despite his lack of experience, it had grown tremendously over the past few days, mostly due to Sif’s insistence on Loki’s inclusion in their activities and outings. He had resisted at first, trying to stand at the edge of the group, feeling completely lost and alone without his brother’s guidance. But the next morning Sif dragged him headlong into a game of _tafl_ that they were playing on the back grounds.

Loki had just intended to watch, but Sif insisted he play, setting herself opposite him, and Loki’s reservations rapidly melted away as he was cheered on by Volstagg. Hogun was torn between giving Loki the occasional word of encouragement, as well as remarking when Sif made a particularly good throw.

Perhaps, he reasoned as he watched Sif knock the king down in the center of the field, he had judged them too harshly. Perhaps they weren’t as unfriendly as Loki had always presumed them to be. Perhaps they hadn’t been unfriendly at all, but rather respectful of the distance Loki had always kept between them.

The next evening, it wasn’t Volstagg or Sif who approached him, but Hogun the Grim himself who quietly asked if Loki would like to partake in a game of _tablut_. Loki was naturally a bit shocked, but accepted regardless, and he found himself up until the middle of the night, laughing hysterically with Sif as Hogun took Volstagg for seven matches in a row. He was beginning to see why Thor had chosen them for his friends, and it seemed as though his brother had chosen…wisely.

On the third day, Fandral apologized to him after their morning meal. Loki gave him a hint of a nod when he had finished, enough to make it clear that the apology hadn’t been accepted, but that he would maybe begin to consider it. Unsurprisingly, Fandral continued to lay low, saying he had plans elsewhere and wouldn’t be around for company that day.

Thor had also made himself scarce. He saw Loki at mealtimes and occasionally in the halls, but he’d withdrawn from most social activities with his friends for the past few days, instead spending far too much of his day sparring and training. He had been wheedled into an evening game of _tafl_ one night, but as Thor matched off against Hogun, Loki could tell his brother’s heart was not in it.

He played poorly, but still laughed off the loss while excusing himself from their company and blaming a headache Loki was certain was fictitious. They made eye contact for a moment, the smile quickly fading from Thor’s face as he locked eyes with his brother before he swallowed grimly and departed the field.

The others made no comment on Thor’s peculiar behavior, but Loki could feel the tension in the air thereafter, the worry that they were all too shy to voice. “He’ll be fine,” Loki assured them. “He’s been pushing himself these past few days; I’m sure he just needs to clear his head.”

The answer seemed acceptable to them, and the topic was never broached again that evening. Loki knew Thor wasn’t ignoring him—he was simply trying to give Loki the space he needed. If Loki had requested Thor stay, he knew he would have, without any kind of questioning or skepticism.

But Loki had no desire for Thor’s company.

He spent a few more days having Thor dodge him, occasionally setting off with the Warriors Three, but also taking one day to simply lounge about his room, absorbed in a new leather-bound book of poetry Bragi had given him, too tired to put on the façade he needed for socializing. Truthfully, Loki was confused and strangely impressed by Thor’s dedication to giving Loki a wide berth. It seemed hypocritical of Thor to fight so hard for Loki’s life only to give him complete, unregulated freedom the next moment, but Thor was sticking to the promise he had made of not interfering in Loki’s affairs.

It didn’t, however, do anything to assuage the anger roiling within him. Thor had now effectively given Loki permission to voice his discontentment as well, and Loki was slowly testing the waters, tossing a barb at Thor as they passed in the hallway and watching his brother’s fists clench, snidely commenting when Thor sat down to dinner, sarcastically chiding him when they were seated next to each other at functions.

At first, the insults were sparse, just one or two here and there, a quick reminder to Thor of Loki’s resentment towards him, something to keep him in his place. But they quickly spiraled, until their conversations were entirely one sided, Loki laying into him, jab after jab while Thor silently took the verbal beating, never once offering a word of protest or any kind of defense.

With another, such passivity might have discouraged them, but it only served to encourage Loki, especially considering the fact that Thor didn’t attempt to avoid his brother when Loki sought him out. He knew Thor was naively and vainly thinking that Loki would one day change his mind and cease with this harassment, but Loki had finally harnessed his anger, had finally sensed that it was his _right_ to be angry, and he had no intention of letting it go any time soon.

The Warriors Three and Sif quickly sensed the dichotomy between the brothers, and Loki expected them to fall in line behind Thor, but they did no such thing, instead dividing their time between the brothers. Loki once pressed them about it, asking if Thor had ever said anything bad about him as he had in the past when they had argued, but they all answered honestly that Thor only spoke of Loki with the utmost respect.

They were worried about him, though, and Loki sensed it, but the mild fretting of a few people was not enough to deter him. He heard from them—as well as through the grapevine—that Thor seemed different, completely without fight nowadays, his brash, reckless nature gone entirely. His father began to berate him during mealtimes about his absolutely pathetic rounds of sparring, warning his son to pull his act together before the damage to his reputation became irreversible, and Loki simply sat back and listened, a wry smile on his face instead of concern.

Things carried on like that for weeks, until it had been a moon since Thor had pulled his struggling brother up from his balcony and kept him prisoner under Mjolnir. He was now listless and quiet, lacking even the defiance and fight to stand up to his father’s criticisms at their dinner table, instead staring at his plate silently, never once touching his food, until Odin had finished and Thor meekly asked to be excused when it was over. Loki watched him, with a distinct lack of pity in his heart, something that surprised even himself.

His brother’s moping and apathy made it hard for Loki to continue to harass him. Loki’s random fits of flyting began to peter off, replaced by a mild concern for his brother’s state, until more often than not when he reached for words at the sight of Thor he came away empty-handed.

\---

One lazy afternoon caught Loki lounging under one of the apple trees in the orchard, not far from the training grounds for the Einherjahr, lying in the shade and listening to the distant sounds of fighting as he stared absentmindedly at the green, curling leaves. He’d spent the morning with Hogun and Sif playing _tablut_ (Hogun had proved to be more of a challenge than Loki had anticipated) before the two had decided to wander over to the sparring ring, and Loki decided to part ways with them then. Watching men pummel each other had never interested him unless he was watching Thor, but not surprisingly that failed to enchant him as of late.

He closed his eyes, shutting out the shouts and clang of tempered swords on wooden shields and focusing on the pleasant, melodic singing of the birds around him, punctuated by the occasional croak of a toad from the nearby pond. The sounds were soothing, until a loud cry from the neighboring crowd startled him, making him wrench his eyes open and sit up to peer into the distance.

The crowd seemed to have doubled since he had last noted it, a tight throng of people surrounding the grounds, and as Loki attempted to estimate their number another shout ran through it, this one laced with shock and…anguish?

The occasional cry gave way into chaos for a few moments, and Loki saw a commotion ripple through the crowd. Normally, such a thing wouldn’t interest him, but Sif and Hogun were there, quite possibly Volstagg as well, and he’d come to enjoy their company—and he would want to know if one of them were in trouble, or were the cause of the ruckus.

He rose to his feet, brushing grass and a leaf from his clothing before jogging across the small field, trying to hurry without looking overly anxious or enthusiastic. His lithe frame easily slipped through the crowd, and anyone who attempted to hinder his progress was met with a stern gaze, an unspoken command to step aside for the prince, and Loki quickly made his way to the front. He strained to see through the bodies as he went, trying to get a glimpse of the action between heads and torsos and limbs, but it wasn’t until he was nearly at the front that everything became clear.

Hogun was there, stoic-faced as he always was, and Loki watched him circle, keeping his eyes locked on his opponent, never letting his guard down. Loki’s eyes flitted to the other side of the ring, to where Hogun’s opponent was still recovering, and saw…

… _Thor_.

His brother was getting to his feet, having been knocked clean off them during Hogun’s last onslaught, one hand braced on the spear he still clutched, the other arm bearing a small shield, and Loki saw Thor wipe a trail of blood from his mouth as he finally straightened. The sight was utterly wrong—Thor _never_ was floored, _never_ lost a match, and Loki could _never_ remember his brother being bested like this. Just what had happened?

His answer came moments later.

Hogun, without warning, lunged again, the dummy morning star in his hand swinging in a wide downward arc, and Thor had just enough time to raise the shield arm to deflect the blow. But Hogun was fast, faster than Thor could handle, and the morning star was quickly brought in an upstroke into Thor’s ribs before Hogun kicked him in the chest, sending Thor flying backwards as though he weighed nothing.

 _Get up, Thor!_ Loki’s mind howled, forgetting his anger in a moment of shock. _Don’t let yourself be shamed like this!_

Thor broke a cardinal rule of battle and turned his back to Hogun as he rolled over, pushing himself to all fours before standing, then crouching to retrieve the spear. Others noticed this; Loki could hear the whispers, and he wondered why Hogun didn’t punish Thor for it.

A shout rang out from across the ring, and Loki looked over. Odin stood there, nestled in the crowd, yelling something that Loki couldn’t quite make out, but Thor recognized his words and flinched.

It did little to shield him against Hogun’s next attack, and moments later Thor was on the ground again, this time flat on his stomach, the spear just beyond his reach.

“Come on, Thor,” Loki whispered. “Get up.”

His mind told him that he shouldn’t be rooting for his brother, that he should savor golden Thor’s spectacular fall, but Loki silenced it. Being an excellent warrior was something that Loki never wanted to see taken from Thor, especially not like this, when he was clearly not putting up any kind of resistance.

The lack of a fight in Thor frightened Loki, more than all of Thor’s wrath and fury combined. Thor was normally passionate about every aspect of his life, from his complete overindulgence during feasts and celebrations, to the long hours spent training and honing his skills as a warrior, to the enthused zeal with which he departs before every expedition. To see his brother so resigned, so listless and aimless, was something that Loki found oddly disturbing.  
Thor got to his feet again only to be knocked down once more. Loki winced, and screwed his eyes shut at the sight. By the time he opened them, Thor was once more on his feet, being smashed in the face with the bottom half of Hogun’s shield. He twisted as he fell, landing on his stomach, near Loki, and as his brother opened his eyes, dazed, blood running down the right side of his face, he caught sight of Loki’s boots. Scared, confused blue eyes rolled upwards until they met Loki’s, and Thor blinked once, slowly, deliberately enough that Loki could sense how ashamed he was.

Why wasn’t he defending himself? Why wasn’t he dodging? What had come over him and stripped him of his confidence and his ability?

 _You’re going to get up, Thor_ , Loki thought, trying to convey his determination to his brother. _You’re going to get up, and you’re going to fight back._

Thor seemed to understand, and he rose once more, now caked in dirt and blood, retrieving the spear and turning to face Hogun for all of a second before the morning star caught him in the stomach, followed by a brutal blow from above that smashed into Thor’s collarbone, so hard Loki was certain he had heard something crunch from the impact. However, Thor managed to stay on his feet…at least until Hogun smashed the side of his skull with the morning star.

At that, Thor crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, falling first to his knees, and then collapsing completely onto his stomach, his arms at his sides. He didn’t move for a long minute, and lying there prone, he looked almost dead.

He couldn’t be dead.

He was Thor Odinson. He was Aesir. The only thing that could kill him was the Midgard Serpent.

He couldn’t be dead from a blow to the head, delivered by a friend with a training weapon.

It wasn’t possible.

Thor was facedown, and Loki strained to see if his brother was breathing, the distance making it difficult to detect any minute movements of his torso.. Every part of him wanted to run out to the field and tend to his brother, shield him from the prying eyes of the crowd, of their father especially, but Loki fought against the impulse, instead staying put. His heartbeat seemed to slow with each subsequent second, until he had a million thoughts and hopes and fears racing through his mind as he watched Thor lying in the dirt, the mild breeze ruffling his hair and shirt.

And then Thor coughed, and relief hit Loki like a much needed thunderstorm after a long drought. His brother groaned, struggling to breathe, and drew his hands up to his shoulders, starting to push himself up as he glanced around the crowd, looking frightened and bewildered, like a trapped animal.

It was then that Odin’s words suddenly became too clear, ringing out across the now silent crowd.

“You shame not only _yourself_ , but this entire _house_!”

Loki flinched at the words, yet shockingly, Thor did not, and Loki wondered how much more their father had berated Thor outside of mealtimes for it to no longer have any effect. He stayed where he was, kneeling in the dirt, trying to collect his belongings and restore himself to some sense of order before he was to rise and leave the ring. Jerky, uncoordinated hands reached for the spear as he clutched the small shield; only once he had both in hand did he appear confident enough to rise, putting his weight on the wooden spear as he did so.

“You are _unworthy_ of your status, Thor! Do you hear me? Nothing more than an ungrateful, undisciplined _whelp_!”

Thor winced now, and pulled himself up on the spear, swaying dangerously as he did so, his other arm flung out for balance. Loki wanted to rush to his side and support him, his instinct crying out to him to help his brother, but he remained rooted to the spot, well aware that any action now would only draw Odin’s wrath on him as well.

“You are _unworthy_ of being my heir, of the right to rule this realm!” Odin was reaching the end of his onslaught, Loki sensed, having endured many of them firsthand. His father, getting no reaction from Thor, was running out of fuel for his rage.

Thor seemed to steady himself for a moment, until he abruptly leaned over and retched, clinging desperately to the spear to avoid falling, his body still doubled over as he vomited the day’s meal onto the dirt before him. None present seemed more shocked than he when he finished, and Loki dug his nails into his palm, biting back a shocked whimper.

“Pathetic,” Odin spat, turning to leave, roughly pushing his way through the crowd of Einherjar as Thor wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Breathing heavily, Thor dragged himself back upright, putting as much weight as he could on the heat tempered wooden spear, and Loki saw that his face was pale, the blood stark against his unusually colorless skin. He was dazed, confused and sorrowful, and Loki saw just for an instant how alone Thor was. He was surrounded by people—friends, relatives, acquaintances, comrades—but despite all of them, Thor was still _alone_.

Sif and Volstagg both made offers to help Thor to the healers, but he shrugged them off, stating that it was just a few minor wounds and he would tend to them himself. Seeing Thor limp slowly off the field, walking in a weaving stumble because a straight one seemed to elude him, twisted something in Loki. Where was prideful, vengeful Thor? Where was the Thor who would have gotten up time and time again until he finally bested his opponent? Had he been slain during Loki’s flyting with him, an unfortunate victim in their war of words?

He knew Thor had not suffered as much as he had. He had never endured the hardships Loki had, never been subject to the abuse, but that didn’t mean he was completely without pain. Loki had turned to him, in desperation, and Thor had done his best to help him in the only ways he knew how. His efforts had been met with a sharp rebuke from Loki, one that had wounded Thor far worse than his brother had anticipated.

And Thor had no one he could turn to.

No one else that Thor trusted knew anything of the abuse. He was completely and utterly without a confidant since Loki knew Thor would never turn to him, fearing that he would put an undue and unneeded stress on his younger sibling, one who had already suffered far beyond Thor’s imagination, or that Loki would mock him for seeking counsel.

Thor disappeared into the crowd, which had nervously refocused on the next set of combatants, but Loki could hear the talk still running through it, whispers of “ _Thor_ ” and “ _shame_ ” and “ _beaten_.” He bit his lip, watching the next two fighters circle one another for a few minutes, worrying about his brother as he watched the fight before him without really seeing. He waited until one was floored, the other snarling above him and holding his longsword high, ready to strike, before he slipped off into the throng of people still watching.

\---

Thor could feel the eyes on him long after he’d left the public arena.

Even as he wandered through the palace he still felt scrutinized, still felt a thousand whispers around him, a thousand bodies observing his shame and his failure, judging him all the while, murmuring things about the shortcomings of their crown prince. He wanted nothing more than to never leave the safety of these walls again, never have to face his brother, his friends, his realm once more, and Thor wondered how long he could truly dodge the onus of his duties as prince.

He stumbled into his chambers, fighting nausea as his vision swam from time to time, and managed to stagger into his bath chamber, leaning on the doorframe for a moment to steady himself before he stepped inside. He limped to the counter, standing before it and the large mirror mounted on the wall above it, and finally found the courage to meet his own reflection.

His shirt was ruined, sodden with rapidly-congealing blood in large patches, drying to form large maroon blossoms on the gray fabric. Thor pulled it off, feeling the pull of the stains as the tacky blood tugged against his skin, and tossed the mess of a garment to the floor. He sighed, and turned to the mirror mounted above his sink, disappointed by his reflection.

He had smeared, red patches on his chest where the blood had started to dry on his skin, and there were large purple bruises already forming on his collarbone and ribs. His face was an utter wreck—nose smashed and still bleeding at the bridge, his lower lip split on the left side, his left eye encircled by an oblong bruise. Most pressing and concerning was the deep gash at his right temple, the one what had been cut so cleanly it still didn’t pain him, but was steadily oozing blood, refusing to be staunched or stemmed at all. Breathing was still hard, and he found himself taking short, choppy breaths through his mouth, ignoring the pain in his side as he struggled through them.

His hands were shaking now, as they often did after fights when Thor was coming down from the rush that combat gave him. He quickly snatched one of the small towels he had lying about the vanity, and wet it, wringing it out with two forceful twists, until it was just damp and no longer dripping.

With as much of a delicate touch as he could muster, he started to wipe away the layer of drying blood on his face, starting at the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to wince when he made contact with his skin. It was slow going, for often he wiped away a patch only to find fresh blood welling up in its place, but eventually he had cleared a goodly section of his face.

As he was rinsing and wringing the rag out again, he heard light footsteps in his room, and knew his brother had followed him. Loki could truly be stealthy when he desired to be so, and the footsteps were more of a courtesy, a knock of sorts, announcing his presence to Thor without requiring Loki to make any kind of social gesture.

Thor glanced at him in the mirror, standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He sighed, twisting the rag and watching the water pour from it, running down the drain of the washbasin, continually washed away by the clean stream that fed it.

“Brother,” he began, wiping a stream of blood on his chin, “if you’ve come here to berate me further, please leave. I…I would prefer none of your flyting today.” He braced himself with one hand on the countertop, dipping his head to avoid Loki’s gaze, returned through the mirror.

“I haven’t come to belittle you,” Loki answered, his voice was reserved and…concerned?

Thor didn’t respond. He simply went back to dabbing the blood from his skin. A thin hand on his arm stopped him, however, and Thor glanced to his side to see Loki tugging at his shoulder, gesturing for Thor to hand over the rag.

Reluctantly, he did, and Loki ushered him to sit on the ledge of the grand bathtub, leaning over Thor like an overbearing mother. He took his chin in hand and forced him to look up, tenderly brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. Thor struggled to keep his eyes off Loki’s, straining to look to the side as his brother began to dab gently at the cut above his eye. He dropped to his knees, resting before Thor, to be more on level with his brother, never letting go of Thor’s chin as he moved.

“You shouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity, Thor,” Loki said, almost absentmindedly. “You’ve no right.”

“I know.”

“Then why do you do it?” Loki’s voice was more accusatory now, more demanding, the grip on Thor’s jaw suddenly tighter. “You know nothing of true hardship, of true suffering and anguish, nothing at all.”

Thor’s focus settled on his knees, and as he opened his mouth to speak, Loki’s hand fell away from his jaw. “I know I don’t, Loki. But that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to suffer.”

All of the accusation bled from Loki’s eyes for a second, replaced by a steely gaze, one that Thor knew his brother put there to avoid any kind of vulnerability. “What do you mean?” he asked, focusing again on wiping the blood from under Thor’s eye.

“I mean exactly what I have said,” Thor murmured. “That I should suffer.”

“Why?” Loki questioned, his tone flat, brow furrowed, and Thor wondered if his brother was truly concerned, or if Loki had some scheme in the back of his mind like he always did. Perhaps Loki was simply weaving his web, luring Thor in only to ensnare him in his own words and render him a helpless captive, entangled and waiting for death at his brother’s discretion

“Why shouldn’t I, Loki?” Thor paused, and Loki snuck a glance at him, the two locking eyes for a brief second, but Loki was still unreadable. “That monster hurt you for _years_ , Loki, and I didn’t even _know_ anything of it. I let him do it, because I was so ignorant—” Thor paused again to let out a shaky breath, “—so blind to the whole issue, to the lies, to the way you behaved. I was absent when you needed my help for _years_. And when presented with the truth I attacked you, in a time when you needed my help.”

He hesitated again, sighing. “And when I tried to offer it, I drove…I drove you to try and end your life. So don’t tell me that I don’t deserve this, Loki. I deserve far, far worse than just this.”

Loki opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, perhaps to agree entirely with Thor. His hands had long ceased working on cleaning up his brother’s face and now rested on his thighs, kneading the rag with a restrained intensity, his demeanor a smoldering wick about to burst into flame.

Thor held up his palm, a sign that he wasn’t done speaking yet. “I know you say you don’t hold it against me, Loki, but you do. I know you do, because if I were you, I would. I would resent me every single day for it, for the life I had that was stolen from you. And you’re entirely justified in doing so, even if you would say otherwise.”

Loki opened his mouth once more, but his silver tongue never formed any words, and then his head canted forward a bit, his eyes confused and unsettled.

They were silent for a long minute, Thor distracted by the sensation of blood running down his face, his thoughts an angry, buzzing din in his head, one that he wanted to turn off entirely. He missed the days when there was silence within his skull, when he hadn’t had so many fears and worries, when life had been simple and straightforward, but he knew there was no going back now.

“You’re right, Thor,” Loki whispered. “You’re right and I don’t want to admit it, but you _are_. I have blamed you and…and I know I still do. And I…I can’t just simply get over this anger so easily.” He looked at his brother, whose shoulders slumped at his words, and then added, “But I have no desire, none at _all_ , to see you suffer like this.”

“I—”

Loki shook his head, ceasing Thor’s protest before it had even been fully formed in his mind. “And don’t _ever_ say you deserve something like that.” He carefully reached out to gingerly touch his brother’s bruised cheekbone. “We’ve both wronged one another. Neither of us is without blame, but neither of us deserves to suffer.”

Thor cautiously surveyed Loki as his brother gently skimmed the pad of his thumb over the flecks of purple marring his skin. “Do you believe me?” Loki asked when Thor didn’t answer.

Thor tilted his head, eyes pleading, completely exposed and vulnerable, knowing that Loki could sense his disbelief, could sense Thor’s doubt in his words, and he licked his lips for a moment before continuing.

“Do you think this will fix things?” Loki asked, eyes flitting down the stream of blood to watch it weave through Thor’s beard, threatening to drip onto his shoulder. “Do you think that letting Hogun knock you unconscious on the dirt will accomplish something?”

“I…no.”

“Then you have no reason to continue on this path, do you?”

“No,” Thor confessed feebly.

“Good,” Loki replied, and gave him a weak smile. He stood up and rinsed the rag in the sink, wringing it out again, before he returned to Thor, quickly wiping down several large patches of crusted blood from Thor’s right temple.

“Loki?” Thor knew it was stupid to ask to get his brother’s attention now, when there were only two of them in the room and Loki’s focus was clearly already on Thor, but he didn’t know how else to preface what he wanted to say.

“Yes?”

“I’m proud to have you as my brother,” Thor said. “You have a strength in you that is incredible, and even though none will ever acknowledge it, you’re braver than any man I have ever known. I…I could have never endured those things, Loki, and the fact that you’re here today, taking care of your coward of a brother, is a testament to your courage.”

Loki stiffened for a moment, and Thor was worried he had offended him with the comment. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, Loki. All I want is for you to be happy, because you deserve so much more out of life than what you’ve been given, and I…I just want to help give you some of what you’re owed.” The moment those words Thor left his mouth, he was consumed by a paralyzing fear that he’d said too much, that Loki would reject him and push him out of his life entirely.

But all Loki said was, “I never doubted your intentions, brother. You’re misguided sometimes, but…but above all else, I will never doubt that you want the best for me.” He swallowed, pulling the rag away from Thor’s face for a moment. “And I…I see now that if it had been you dangling from that balcony, I would have fought just as hard as you did to keep me alive.”

They were silent for a long minute, Loki sitting down on his heels, hands folded across his thighs once more, and he glanced down at it, at Thor’s blood staining the gray fabric, while his brother looked on.

“Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“I…I’m so grateful you’re alive. I don’t…I don’t know if you are yet, or if you’ve forgiven me for that I did that night, or even if you _can_ , but I’m so, so grateful I still have you.”

Loki bit his lip for a long second, and Thor’s heart missed a beat during the lull. “I think…I am, too.”

Thor put his hands on either side of Loki’s shoulders as he slid from the bathtub ledge, joining his brother on the marble floor, and pulled him close, not caring about the blood or the bruises, just simply savoring the feel of his brother, tangible, living flesh and blood, in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to mention a bit about my version of Asgard for this fic. I wanted to portray Asgard as what would be more "in-line" with a true Norse culture, something of the Viking age (around 700-1100 AD), and thus the views on gender are different that what we see in the comics and movies. The example that is most obvious in this chapter is Sif--in both comics and movies, she is seen as sort of an "exception" to the female gender, a black sheep for picking up weapons. In fact, within Viking society, the opposite was true. Women were often encouraged to become shieldmaidens, and numerous examples exist in literature (Sigrun and Brynhild in the Volsunga Saga, and Hervor in Arrow Odd are three examples from the top of my head), as well as many archaeological finds of female boat graves containing weapons and armor.
> 
> However, while women were encouraged to pick up sword and shield, it meant that it, conversely, was extremely shameful for a man to abandon his, and therefore his duty to his people (hence the ergi terminology and associated shame). If anyone has questions/comments/thoughts of their own on this, or feels/knows differently, please, let me know in a comment. I'm always up for discussion about this! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! However, it is 3 am, so this note might be a little off.
> 
> Völva are pretty much the old Norse equivalent of seeresses or witches, magic-practicing women who could usually foretell the future.
> 
> Poetry was considered a sport in Viking society, something that I didn't stress within the chapter but I thought would be apropos for a note.
> 
> Wergild was the monetary compensation one could pay as punishment for committing a crime in Viking society, anything from breaking and entering to regicide.

Thor bore two new scars from that day.

Loki tried to insist on bringing him to a healer, but Thor refused, and Loki had eventually given in to his brother’s wishes. The two cuts on his forehead healed soon enough, though they left purple, raised scars, and his nose remained crooked. Loki knew that over time the scars would fade, and his nose would even out, but it would take impossibly long, and he wondered why on earth Thor would want to live with such imperfections.

“A reminder,” he’d said when Loki pressed him about it. Loki had no further questions.

The wounds between them, like the ones on Thor’s face, began to heal as well. They would take a long time to fully fade, and Loki wasn’t sure that they ever would completely, but he was enjoying his brother’s company once more. The outings between himself, his brother, and the Warrior’s Three, with Sif in tow, quickly became a staple in his daily routine. Thor’s friends were greatly eased by his renewed presence in their activities, and even if Thor wasn’t completely his old, reckless self, he was still in a far better state than in the weeks prior.

Not everything, however, was coated in this sugar-sweet promise of better things to come. Loki still woke some mornings crippled by unexpected sadness, unable to move or think or do anything beyond succumb to the waves of depression that hit him, tears falling unhindered down his face as he lay curled between his sheets. The first time this happened, Thor found him in the late morning, when Loki’s absence at breakfast had been noticed. He’d lingered in the doorway, Loki’s back to him, and then shut the door quietly, leaving Loki undisturbed for the remainder of the day.

The second time, however, he had closed the door behind him and sat on the bed near Loki, taking his brother’s hand and simply holding it. Loki wasn’t sure how long he stayed; at some point he fell asleep and when he woke it was well into the night and Thor was gone, but Loki knew his brother had been there until he had drifted off.

The third time, Thor curled up on the bed beside Loki, despite his brother’s feeble protests to go and enjoy his day. He had pulled Loki close, Loki burying his face in the crook of Thor’s neck, and held him while Loki cried and sobbed so violently that his whole body shook. Eventually his tears were exhausted and he just lay there, feeling empty and aching, and Thor had stroked his hair and wiped the last few tears from his face.

His brother’s presence, however well intentioned, was not always a welcome one, and there had been several instances where Loki had hit his brother in fits of rage, fists striking Thor’s chest as he had tried to hold and comfort him, spitting out strings of insults at him. Thor had taken the hint quick enough and left, a pained look on his face as he made his way to the door. On one occasion Loki had asked him to stay, his voice small and weary, offering no apology, but fairly certain that Thor could work out that Loki’s anger wasn’t necessarily directed at him.

Thor never tried to usher him back outside, never attempted to drag him from the safety of his bed until Loki was ready—it was always Loki who made the first move in these situations, detaching himself from Thor’s warm embrace to face the world once more. Thor would often give him a questioning look, one that asked him if he was truly ready to leave, but it quickly morphed into approval and sympathetic support when Loki gave him any kind of affirmation.

But it seemed that for every ounce of himself Thor poured into Loki, he drained from his own interests and activities. His sparring and fighting were better now, but they were still nothing like what they had been, something that frustrated their father to no end. Thor no longer had that adventurous, boyish look in his eyes, the utter zeal for adventure and life itself that had so driven him. Now he was reserved, almost fretful at times, and the striking contrast was something that still caught Loki off guard.

Thor’s entire demeanor was now humbler, more withdrawn, though he still bore the same innocence. Loki found he missed his brother’s rashness and boldness at times, and he wondered if this would be temporary or if Thor had truly taken on this new air. Once or twice Loki had worried about him, but it was _Thor_ , and they both knew that he could use a little maturity. It was the rapidness with which he had changed, however, that alarmed Loki.

Thor, for his part, did not act burdened or grim. He still smiled, still indulged in jokes and a good time, although he had reigned in his carefree attitude significantly. No longer were there maidens hanging off his arms at feasts, while he held two skeins of mead, foam caught in his beard, a wild grin plastered on his face; now Thor had a few drinks and quietly returned the smiles of girls from far away.

With the change in Thor, there was an accompanying balance working out between them. Thor was no longer so overbearing, and whatever desires he had to protect Loki from any and all harm had quietly been silenced or put to the side. Instead, he’d taken to encouraging Loki’s interests, or trying to offer him new ones, giving Loki gentle nudges and encouragement wherever he could. Sometimes Loki would snap at him, reminding him that he _wasn’t_ a child, and Thor would apologize and lay off for a few days, but he never stopped trying to find ways to foster Loki’s independence.

Thor was there for Loki when he needed him, and he made himself scare when Loki no longer desired his presence, but Loki knew that Thor still worried for him when they were apart. Often times after Loki would scold him, Loki would find a tiny gift in his room, a peace offering from his brother, paying _wergild_ for a crime that truly had no legal definition.

At first they were small—a few pomegranates, Loki’s favorite fruit, arranged carefully on his bed, a small amulet in the shape of a coiled serpent laid on his pillow, a new set of writing quills set surreptitiously on his desk. They steadily grew to be items of greater sentimentality and value, things that Loki himself would not have thought of. He returned one night to find a small leather journal tucked on his pillow, with a carefully written chart explaining several common meters for poetry, and on the first page, written in broad, blocky runes, the words, “You’d make a fine poet, Brother.” The next gift came in the form of Thor’s long-promised new knives, and Loki hadn’t the heart to tell Thor that he didn’t need the tangible weapons anymore, that he had long ago figured out how to conjure them in battle, and that he only carried the ones Thor had given him years ago out of fondness for his brother.

Loki wondered what Thor’s gift to him would be this afternoon. He stood in the doorway, still undetected by Thor, who was carefully propping _something_ up against Loki’s pillow, tilting his head in dissatisfaction and _tsk_ ing softly.

“So I finally caught you.”

His brother turned around, flustered, but Loki just smiled, bemused, and strode up to him, stepping up onto the dais and nudging Thor aside to peer at the gift he had just left.

“‘The Art of Flight,’” he said, bemused, reading the title of the book, fingers skimming under the impressed letters in the leather cover.

“I…was under the impression that birds are still…not your strength,” Thor confessed, sheepishly rubbing his upper arm. “Forgive me if I was mistaken.”

Loki laughed softly. “No, sadly, you’re not.” He gingerly lifted the cover, skimming over neat black letters on the inside pages, quickly engrossed in what he was reading.

“So it’s…it’s all right then?”

“Yes, Thor, it’s more than all right,” Loki returned, adding an amused snort.

“The woman who sold me that gave me quite the look,” Thor said, warming to the subject, but his expression quickly blanked as Loki looked over. He knew Thor was afraid he’d offended him, and so he gave him a moment to finish the story before he passed any kind of judgment.

Thor meekly rubbed his arm again, twisting the sleeve now. “She, ah…told me I’d be too heavy to fly, even as a bird.”

Loki smirked. “You _are_ a bit large.” He surveyed Thor up and down quickly. “And ungainly.”

Thor folded his arms across his chest. “I seem to recall _you_ were the one who spent two days crashing into every wall of this palace as a sparrow.”

“Well, I won’t anymore, now that I possess this.” Loki held up the book, title facing Thor.

“I’d hope not,” Thor quipped. “I paid a lot for it. I’m told it’s the best book on the subject.”

Loki cocked a brow, skeptical. Thor’s brows rose in questioning as well, wondering why Loki was doubting him.

“I…asked a few völva on the subject,” he murmured. “Is that…?”

“It’s fine.” The thought of his brother interrogating old spinning women and seers about books on birds was rather amusing, but it struck another chord in Loki. Thor, despite his warrior’s prowess, had taken the time to genuinely look for something completely outside of his realm of knowledge for Loki. He’d asked questions about a topic that most of Asgard considered taboo, especially for a strapping young man such as Thor, and had followed the answers given to him to retrieve this book for Loki. Thor had gone against the prejudices and prying eyes of a whole city just to get a gift for his brother.

In a way, that offering was better than the book itself. Thor’s dedication to his brother’s interests at any expense meant far more than a leather-bound volume about flight.

“I…thank you for this,” Loki said, tapping the cover lightly. Thor smiled warmly.

“Enjoy it,” he said. “And do try not to hit any more walls.”

Loki gave him a bemused snort and Thor stepped off the dais, heading toward the door as Loki sat down on his bed, watching his brother slip through the doors. He pulled the book in his lap, fingers tracing over the title, and sighed contentedly.

\---

Despite whatever progress Loki strove to make, something always set him back.

He was able to fight the small things, the everyday things that made him pause for a moment to stave off a wave of anger or sorrow. When he was young, small instances had reduced him to crying jags or fits of blank, apathetic staring, but now he merely grimaced and did his best to move on.

Avoidance tended to be the best solution, but there were certain things Loki could not avoid. His room still held haunting memories, of being pressed down into the sheets and _used_ , or the soft creak of his doors in the middle of the night as that awful predator pushed them open. The weapons room often made Loki ill with rage and jealousy and shame, recalling how fondly he had played in here with Thor only to have that joy snatched away from him like everything else.

The sight of Frigga and Odin tended to jar him the most, and Loki tended to avoid both of them if possible. Certainly, there were times when contact was forced—feasts and political functions, or any kind of large-scale gathering usually put them in the same room—but outside of these, Loki rarely saw them, if ever. The palace was large enough that Loki could ensure that his paths never crossed theirs, for the most part.

And thus, he never expected to run into them.

He had just finished a midafternoon game of _tafl_ with his brother and their friends, and they’d parted ways, Thor and Loki heading back to the palace, taking a long, meandering path through the rear orchard to lead them to the east wing. Thor was excitedly doing his repeated impression of Hogun’s ever-serious expression, even during a throw, never distracted nor perturbed despite the antics of those around him, and Loki was snickering from time to time, mostly at the sheer effort his brother was putting into it, as well as how awkward he looked.

Neither of them noticed their parents until they heard Frigga’s voice.

Loki instantly looked up, freezing like a hare, and his hand instinctively sought Thor’s, searching for something, _anything_ to hold on to and ground him. His breath locked in his chest and he squeezed Thor’s hand tightly, his brother gripping back just as fiercely, sensing that Loki _needed_ his solid presence right now. Loki had finally found a source of comfort and support in Thor, one that he was intent on using this very second.

She was seated on a blanket spread out on the grass, beneath the shade of one of the fruit trees, absentmindedly toying with the bracelet on her wrist as she spoke to her husband. Odin was standing not far from her, picking a few apples off some low-lying branches, his back to both of the young men and his wife.

Loki was still amazed by just how much the mere sight of them could undo him. Thor’s hand clutching his was the only think keeping him together at the moment. But the more he stared at Odin, the vile man he was, and Frigga, the blind enabler, the more the bile began to rise in him, the more his mind began to twist and bring forth bones buried in the shallowest of graves.

“Come on, Loki,” Thor urged, nudging his brother. Loki tripped at first, still completely fixated on watching them, watching their carefree interactions, watching them move without remorse of any kind for what they had done. It hurt him, impossibly so, to see them without care or regard when he was barely able to get out of bed and dress himself some mornings.

Thor continued to push him, like a stubborn animal, and Loki protested by never taking his eyes off of his father, never letting his gaze falter until—

 _Loki is trembling before he even hears the doors creak._

 _His father’s visits are sporadic, and Loki has figured out no pattern to them yet, has discovered no rhyme or reason as to when they will occur, and he exists in a state of constant fear once his mother kisses him goodnight and departs for her own room. He often begs her to stay, or begs Thor to sleep in his room, but Frigga cannot stay the whole night, and Thor finds him childish._

 _So Loki is left alone, and that is when his father comes to him._

 _This night proves to be unlucky, and Loki curls up in his bed, making himself as small as possible. He often feigns sleep when his father approaches the bed, hoping that he will leave when he sees his son curled up in slumber, but his ruse has never been good enough for Odin. Once he decided that he would simply hide, and the moment Frigga’s footsteps faded, Loki darted from his bed, slipping out of his room, and ran as fast as his small legs would carry him to the rear gardens. He hid in a pear tree until the twilight of dawn, when he felt safe enough to creep back inside, picking leaves and twigs from his hair before he crawled back between his sheets._

 _His father made sure Loki never attempted such a thing again the following night._

 _Loki can hear his heart beating in his ears as his father’s footsteps come to stop next to his bed. His back is turned to him, but Loki inhales sharply when he feels a hand touch his shoulder, and he curls in on himself even more, fingers twisting the sheets with unprecedented desperation. Loki grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, unable to stop the frightened whimper that slips out._

 _“Please don’t,” he begs a second later, even though he knows it is a stupid request, one that his father won’t heed, one that his father has never heeded and will never heed._

 _The hand on his shoulder shifts to pull the covers away from him, and Loki buries his face into his knees, his breath in shallow pants now, so terrified that all he can focus on is the overpowering din of his heartbeat and the choked noises of his breaths. He’s dimly aware as his father sits on the bed, the hand now slipping onto his chest, urging him onto his back, trying to get him to uncurl, but Loki wants to do no such thing. Compliance now is better in the long run, he knows, but that doesn’t make Loki want to obey any more, for he knows what his father’s visits entail, with or without his cooperation._

 _The grip is suddenly insistent, and Loki cries out as he is grabbed roughly. Suddenly instinct takes over, the desire for self-preservation clouding all other thoughts in his mind, and he lashes out, harder than he has before, harder than all the times he used to mock-fight with Thor, harder than the time he and that nasty nobleman’s son got into a scuffle. The blow catches his father off guard in the ribs, but doesn’t faze him, and Loki finds himself shoved onto his back a moment later._

 _Loki panics, and tries to pull the hands off of him, but his father is older, stronger, and Loki is no match against Odin’s iron grip. When that tactic doesn’t yield any success, he resorts to any cheap ploy he can think of, and scratches at his father’s face as he leans down. Small hands catch onto the splendid golden eye patch his father wears, and suddenly it comes loose in Loki’s hand. To him, it is a weapon, and not an ornament, and Loki uses it to strike his father, hitting him in the brow, and they are both shocked when the wound begins to bleed._

 _Loki is the first to recover from the stun, and he hits his father again, with as much force as he can put into the strike. He only lands a few more successive blows before he finds the eye patch wrenched from his hand and his wrists pinned onto the bed. What follows next is a vicious slap, one that leaves him seeing stars, followed by two more, and by the end of the set, Loki tastes the familiar salty, sickening flavor of blood on his tongue. His father is a grown man, and he does not bother showing any kind of restraint when he beats his child._

 _There is a hand wrapped around his throat in another second, and Loki takes comfort in the fact that he can still breathe, despite the pressure and the pain, but the glower in his father’s eye threatens to steal the breath from his lungs regardless. “You will_ never _defy me,” Odin snarls, and Loki nods, helpless and pleading._

 _He’s too afraid to move, to breathe, or even to think, not when he can feel fingers curling on his delicate neck, not when his father is staring at him with bloodlust in his eye. He doesn’t know when he started to cry, but he can feel hot tears on his face now, and he doesn’t care how pathetic he looks because he’s simply too afraid to worry over what, by comparison, is such a trivial matter._

 _“Never,” Odin repeats, and the fingers release, Loki gulping in a relieved breath as they do so._

 _When his father pulls at his tunic, Loki makes no effort to stop him. Instead, he pulls the garment over his head himself, setting it on the bed beside him in a neat pile, and then stares at his father with blank eyes._

“Loki?”

Thor’s voice dragged him to reality, saving him from collapsing inward on himself, consumed by this awful, tormenting memory, and he glanced over at his brother, finding Thor’s expression consumed with concern and worry. He felt the tension in his hand, felt how hard he was gripping Thor’s palm, nails cutting little curves into his flesh, and he felt bad for a split second, even though Thor didn’t look pained.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Loki said, distantly, with just a hint of anger in his voice. He glanced around, realizing they were partially inside now, under the portico of the courtyard before the orchards. He fixated on the pillars holding the roof up for a moment, before finally settling on the sight of his father and mother, out in the orchard, two small figures that blurred as he lost his focus.

“Loki—” Thor protested, but Loki released his hand and took a step back. Thor reached out for him, not touching him, but simply holding out his hand in an effort to comfort Loki and pull him away from whatever he was spiraling toward.

“I just need to be alone, Thor,” Loki said, reeling as he took another step backwards. His mind was spinning, his stomach tight, and he felt as though he might be sick, right here, right now, in the gardens, in front of their parents, in front of the servants. He worried who might see, but as nausea welled up in him he ceased to care, barely managing to choke it back as his eyes settled on his father once more.

Shame and fear and anguish mixed with rage as he gazed at the old man, and Loki wanted nothing more than to simply run at him, snatching one of the large, pale white stones from a flowerbed, and taking his father by surprise, knocking him to the ground, and simply hitting, striking and beating and _hitting_ , ignoring the blood and the bone and the sickening thump of flesh being pummeled, until his father was limp and lifeless beneath him, nothing more than a bloody pulp that could never harm him again.

He was suddenly aware that Thor was reaching for him again, holding both hands up, palms out, trying to touch Loki’s shoulders, but he backed away, skittish, like a cornered animal. “Just need to…to be alone,” he said, and Thor’s hands withdrew, his brother looking distraught and helpless as Loki turned on his heel and fled.

\---

Hours later, he sat on the floor of his room, staring hollowly at his bed. It was well into the night, and he was certain that all the other members of his family had gone to bed long ago, but Loki remained, sitting in the darkness of his chambers, staring at his bed on the dais from his spot near the doors.

He couldn’t sleep in his bed, at least not tonight.

It was such a place of dual natures to him, one that tormented him on some nights and comforted him on others. It was where he had curled up to pleasant dreams and where he had been held down and raped, where he had gone to seek respite at the end of the day and where his nights had been endless episodes of fear and pain.

Loki suddenly felt tired and disgusted, chastising himself for being a grown man too afraid to sleep in his own bed. His self-scathing, however, did nothing to assuage his fears or the sinking resentment in his bones. Loki grimaced and drew his knees closer to his chest, ignoring the ache in his hips from sitting for so long. He sighed, the sound echoing around the empty room, and rested his chin on his knees.

The silence in the room reminded him how alone he was. He’d needed to get away earlier, to remove himself from the situation before it could do any more damage, but now the loneliness was engulfing him, preying on the fears already etched in his mind, and Loki was beginning to crave company, if only to distract him from the horrid games his mind was playing with him.

With ungainly, awkward movements Loki rose, his legs stiff and painful, and he stretched for a long moment before even making an attempt to walk to the door. He silently pulled it open, limping out into the torchlight of the hallway, and staggering to his brother’s room. His legs had lost most of their stiffness by the time he shut Thor’s door behind him, and he was able to creep nearly silently up to Thor’s bed.

Thor was on his back, head tilted to one side, expression terse, mouth slightly slack. He was snoring softly, arms splayed at his sides, clearly asleep, and Loki smiled slightly at the sight.

“Thor?”

His brother didn’t respond. Loki bit his lip, remembering how deeply Thor slept, recalling how he had once remarked that it would be easier to wake the dead than to wake Thor Odinson himself.

“ _Thor_?” he pressed, more urgently, now nudging Thor’s shoulder. When there was still no response, not even a change in his breathing, Loki grabbed his brother’s arm and shook, efforts becoming steadily more insistent until blue eyes snapped open and stared at him.

“Loki?” Thor instantly sat up, processing Loki’s haggard appearance. “Is something wrong? What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened, Thor,” Loki reassured. “Everything’s fine.”

Thor looked suspicious for a second. “Are _you_ all right?”

“I’m…fine,” Loki said. It was a half-truth, and both of them knew it. “But can I…can I just stay here for tonight?” Thor’s brows furrowed for a moment. “I can’t sleep in my own bed, and I’m fine sleeping on the floor here, you don’t have to share the bed with me—”

He fell silent as Thor scooted over in his bed, pulling back the covers and patting the mattress for Loki to lie on. There was no protest of any kind, instead just a welcoming, partially concerned glance from Thor.

Loki sighed with relief as he sat on the bed, swinging his legs up. His fears of Thor denying him based on their past tryst, based on Loki’s history, were simply imagined; above all, Thor loved him, and set Loki’s well-being above a past wrongdoing.

Thor was already almost half asleep again, completely unperturbed as Loki rearranged the pillows, settling himself under the covers. He exhaled, shakily, recalling the numerous times he had done this when he was younger, sneaking into Thor’s room under cover of darkness. He had done it frequently as a young child, his visits starkly dropping off when his father had ordered Loki to sleep in his own room, but they hadn’t stopped entirely, even then. Only when they matured, when Thor took an interest in girls, did he stop, not wanting to burden Thor with the onus of his immature younger brother.

Mostly he would go when he couldn’t bear to be in his own bed, typically after one of his father’s visits. If he stayed, he would drag himself from his bed to lie on the floor till dawn, unable to stay on those sheets stained with his shame. He only went to Thor, however, on nights when it was especially bad, when he couldn’t calm himself on his own, couldn’t stop shaking and replaying the scene in his mind. Thor was usually asleep, and Loki would simply curl up in bed behind him, not touching him, just comforted by the presence of his older brother, his one tether to the world.

And of course, Loki had always left before dawn. Thor couldn’t know about that—he would have asked questions, and Loki had woven such a tapestry of lies that he frequently found himself tangled in his own threads when he tried to brush off or redirect inquiries about his sorry state.

Thor’s bed was warm, like it had been in the past; his brother radiated heat like fire itself, and Loki pulled the covers over his shoulders, tucking them under his chin, giving Thor one last sleepy, grateful look before he shut his eyes.

\---

Thor woke to the soft sounds of Loki snoring beside him and the first rays of dawn lighting up his room. Loki was curled half on his side, half on his stomach, the covers still drawn under his chin, held there by his hands tucked under his jaw and held close to his body. His hair was a mess, black strands lying everywhere in a haphazard scattering on Thor’s pillow and falling into Loki’s face, a few pieces fluttering with each breath.

Loki looked utterly exhausted, with his brow furrowed and tense, and dark circles lying under his eyes. He knew seeing their father yesterday had awoken something twisted and awful in Loki, something that had frightened his brother more than any creature or any opponent they’d ever faced, the reasons for Loki’s persistent anxiety and fear in the presence of their father now all too clear to Thor. He had felt so stupid and helpless, watching Loki run off, but he knew pursuing him then would only make matters worse, and so he’d been forced to wait and pray that Heimdall did not summon him.

When Loki had appeared in his chambers in the dead of night, asking to sleep in his room, Thor had been relieved beyond measure. His brother was alive, coherent, and in search of company and comfort. Thor would have given him almost anything he asked for out of sheer gratitude and to make sure that Loki didn’t get any worse.

It was a small, easy thing to let Loki sleep beside him. For a moment, fear had flashed through his mind, afraid that he would wake up bearing evidence of some illicit tryst once more and that Loki would be back in his chambers. But he knew that displaying such distrust now would have cut Loki too deeply. There would be a time and a place for that conversation, and it wasn’t in the middle of the night when his brother was asking for help.

This place, Thor realized, was utterly toxic for Loki, slowly poisoning his brother. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what it must be like, wandering these halls, surrounded by totems reminding him of what he’d been subjected to, of what had been taken from him, of the secrets and the lies and the pain that comprised his life. Loki had always seemed so much more energetic and lifelike, so carefree, outside of Asgard, and Thor wondered if now might be an opportune time to steal his brother away for a few days.

They had gone on expeditions before, sometimes accompanied by a large staff of guards and servants and accompanied by many friends and acquaintances, but there had been a few occasions of Thor simply riding with his brother, with just each other for company.

Perhaps, Thor reasoned, now was the time to take Loki away once more. Give him some space to clear his head, to flush some of the corrosive hate from him, give him a reprieve from the anguish, and nurture the independence his brother had been showing. Perhaps he could show him that his place was not within the palace walls, but out in the world, away from those who had hurt him so.

Thor shifted carefully on the bed, crawling out from under the blankets so as to not disturb Loki. His brother shifted and stretched, perhaps subconsciously aware of Thor’s departure, but he did not wake, instead nestling into the pillow once more.

Thor dressed quickly, swapping his undertunic for a new set of clothes, and then silently slipped about the room, snatching clothes and other items he would need and stuffing them into a deerskin bag. He set it at the foot of the bed when he was done and strode to Loki’s room, poking through his brother’s things until he had Loki’s essentials rounded up and packed in a second bag.

The sun was almost fully up as Thor finished his preparations in their chambers, and he finally tiptoed over to the bed, sitting on the side where he had slept the night prior.

“Loki,” he whispered. He was afraid to touch his brother in his sleep, afraid that Loki would wake and misconstrue his intentions, or that he would be reminded of something traumatic. “ _Loki_.”

Behind locks of dark hair, Loki’s eyes fluttered, and then sleepily blinked a few times before he opened them enough to look at Thor, picking his head up off the pillow. “Mmm?”

“Get up,” Thor said, trying to contain his smile. Loki did not look amused. He glanced around the room, deducing the hour of the morn as Thor stood up, and scowled at his brother when Thor went to pick up the packs.

“Why?” Loki asked, and Thor saw the listlessness, the emptiness in his brother’s eyes, and knew that Loki had no intentions of leaving the bed that day. Thor wondered if perhaps he should leave him for a day, put off their departure until Loki was ready, or if it would be better to take him now, to try and stem this fit of depression before it began.

“I want to go away for a few days. Just you and I. Like we used to.” A pause. “But if you don’t want to…to get up just yet, we don’t have to go.” Thor backed up toward the packs he had left at the foot of the bed, ready to remove their contents and put the items he’d gathered away.

Loki let his head drop back onto the pillow, staring blankly at the far wall, and Thor was unsure if he was even considering his request. Thor let the silence hang for a long minute, then decided to call off this stupid, foolish venture—what kind of a fool idea was it to drag his poor brother away from his home when he was suffering like this? Honestly, what had he hoped to accomplish?

“It’s probably best if we stay here,” he murmured. “It was a stupid idea; I’ll let you go back to sleep, you’re—”

“I want to go,” Loki said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“I…I want to go,” he repeated, voice still soft, but gaining strength as he spoke. “I’d like to be away for a bit.”

Thor gave a minute smile, relieved, picking up the outfit he’d pulled for Loki to wear that morning, something loose and comfortable, since they’d be on horseback for most of the day. He meandered back over to the bed, dropping the small pile before Loki, who had his eyes closed but sighed regardless at the sound.

“I’ll meet you in the stables,” Thor said. “Come down whenever you’re ready.”

\---

Thor was just tightening the saddle on the second horse when Loki shuffled into the stables.

He didn’t even seem to have enough energy to properly _walk_ , instead shambling over to Thor, his boots skimming over the floor with a soft _skiff, skiff_ as he moved. He kept his eyes on the floor, twisting his sleeves in his fingers, and came to stand just beside the gray horse Thor was working with.

“Do…do you think you can ride?” Thor asked, surveying his state over the back of the horse. “If you’re too tired, Brother, I can get the chariot.”

Loki sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re certain,” Thor said, handing Loki the reins to the charcoal horse, which whinnied softly. Loki hardly reacted.

Thor sighed. “Don’t…take this the wrong way, but if you don’t want to go—”

“I need to get away,” Loki said, putting one foot in the stirrup and hoisting himself up into the saddle. “Just give me some time.”

Thor nodded, watching as Loki nudged his horse, pulling the reins to steer the animal as it slowly walked out of the stables. He patted his own chestnut for a moment before he fit one solid foot into his stirrup and hauled himself up, settling himself in the saddle and making sure he was comfortable. Once he was properly seated, he squeezed his horse a bit with his knees, and the animal began to walk.

Loki was waiting for him, gazing out over the grassy plains, and when Thor’s chestnut stopped beside his gray, he eyed his brother almost impatiently, urging him with a silent _Where to, Brother?_

Thor frowned. He had no particular destination mind, only the sole thought of _away_ , but he knew he did not want to leave the realm of Asgard, just the city itself. Niflheim and Svartalfaheim, as well as Jotunheim, were too inhospitable for them in such a small group. Alfheim and Vanaheim held no interest for Thor—they were too well populated to give them any kind of solace. That left Midgard, but Thor wasn’t in a mood to ride to the Bifrost and deal with Heimdall, and he doubted Loki wanted to magic them, as well as the horses, to Midgard of all places.

So he picked a direction, at random, and decided to head that way until he found something. They would locate a spot on the wild edges of Asgard, where civilization was a distant thought, but close enough that they were still ensnared by the same branches of Yggdrasil.

Thor kicked his horse, the animal setting out into the sea of grass, and a moment later he heard the sounds of Loki’s gray following suit. He cast a glance over his shoulder at his brother, whose face was stern and determined.

As Thor resettled his gaze on the plains before him, he hoped that this trip would not be in vain.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much much credit is owed to the lovely Moiraine, who fixed basically this whole chapter and all the dialogue, despite having a packed schedule. Go read her Eagle fic Descry~
> 
> Some notes-
> 
> This chapter deals with a lot of heavy stuff, I'm not going to lie, and suicide as well as self-harm are explicitly mentioned in this segment. Just want to warn for that.
> 
> I also want to warn on Loki's characterization. The way I'm pulling him and his feelings for Thor might offend some people, and I absolutely want to make it clear that that is not my intention whatsoever. This characterization was something I had outlined very early on, and I realize that it might not sit well with some of my readers. If it doesn't, I'm sorry, but please realize that it was never my intention to offend anyone.
> 
> Also, I know this sounds horribly petty to ask, but please, guys, comment! It's very unnerving to write something like this and get a lot of silence on the airwaves (because I'm always afraid I've grossly offended my readers). So if something jives with you, doesn't jive, you want to know if something's going to happen, whatever- just leave me a comment! I realize I probably scared a lot of you off with the stuff that happened around chapter eight, and I apologize for doing so. Just know that I'm always more than willing to get feedback of any kind (that includes bad!) on my work. :)
> 
> tl;dr- Writing about people camping is about as exciting as going camping.

Thor’s legs ached by the time they stopped riding.

He and Loki had crossed all of Idavoll, heading out to the distant plains and thick woods of Thrudvangar. Thor liked it here, where the grassy headlands turned into coniferous forests as they ascended into mountainous territory. He found it rugged and untamable, a beautiful contrast to the sheltered, luxurious life he had in the palace.

He scoured the area with Loki until they found a shallow cave at the base of a mountain, an hollow that would provide sufficient shelter from the elements for the next few days. There was a stream nearby, and the surrounding woods were thick with game, and Thor felt that it was an appropriate place to stop, more than adequate for their needs.

Loki dismounted without ceremony, still withdrawn, simply standing there as Thor climbed down from his own horse, breathing deeply the scent of pine trees and fresh earth. He patted the large animal’s neck gently and flicked his gaze over to Loki, who was holding the slack reins in his hands. Thor sighed, leading his horse over to Loki to take the reins from his brother.

Thor tied their animals to a low-hanging branch of one of the pine trees, taking their tack and packs off while Loki watched silently. He set them into a neat pile near the mouth of the cave, glancing over his shoulder as Loki shuffled forward.

“Here,” Thor said, handing Loki two of them. “Just carry these inside, will you?”

Loki hesitated for a long moment, before giving a small nod, taking the two packs from Thor and carrying them farther into the cave. Thor watched him set them down, momentarily relieved that Loki was at least engaged in something, even if it were a menial task, and then he returned to his own work, finishing up with the horses. After the saddles and packs were completely removed, Thor found a pine with some low-lying branches to hitch them to, tying the reins in a sturdy knot before returning to the mouth of the cave. It would hold until he got the hobbles out from his bag, at any rate.

“What do you think?” Thor asked, gesturing around the inside of the cave. “Will it do?”

Loki folded his arms over his chest and shrugged. “I suppose. You would know better than I.”

Hiding his grimace at the lackluster response, Thor knelt down and untied their bedrolls, setting them aside, ready to be unrolled when darkness fell. He’d hoped Loki could relax out here, but he seemed just as on edge as he had at the palace. Perhaps Loki just needed some more time away before he would let down his guard? Standing up to face his brother, he wordlessly beckoned him back outside. Loki dropped his arms to his sides and gave Thor a questioning, almost expectant look, but Thor just smiled as reassuringly as he could, and then stepped past his brother and back outside the cave. Loki followed.

They spent the rest of the afternoon gathering firewood and building a fire pit outside the mouth of the cave, Thor carrying over good sized stones to make a ring on the cleared dirt of the ground. Loki wandered in and out of the campsite, bringing back tinder and smaller sticks to get the fire started, frowning and dusting his hands off after setting down each bundle.

When Thor had finished with the stones, he took Loki and led their horses down to the stream, and then let them graze in the nearby meadow, lying lazily on the grass as their mounts wandered slowly about the meadow. Loki sat beside him, plucking and twisting blades of grass, a pensive expression on his face as he coiled a strand so tightly around his finger that it snapped.

He looked up, out across the meadow and the two horses. “How long will we stay?” Loki asked, shaking the grass from his fingers.

“However long you want.”

Loki nodded and pulled another strand. “Thank you for doing this.”

“I should have done it a long time ago.” Thor pulled a strand himself and started to knot it, face furrowed in concentration as he tried to will his thick fingers to be as nimble as Loki’s.

“Who knows we’re gone?”

“I told a few servants and the stable hand that we were going for a few days, but that’s it. And Heimdall, naturally.”

Loki frowned. “They’ll come looking for us.” He flinched. “Father will go to Heimdall, and then, when he finds us—”

“—I’ll tell them it was all my idea, and I dragged you, rather unwillingly, along.” Thor smiled confidently.

Loki shook his head. “He won’t believe you. He’ll say I put you up to this, that I told you to say that. We should just go back.”

“If that’s what you really want, we can,” Thor said slowly. Loki looked over at him, the wind rustling their hair. “But I don’t think that it is.”

His brother offered no response other than to look away, and Thor wondered if perhaps they should return. It was fairly early; if they left now, they would be back by early afternoon, and their trip could easily be written off as a morning ride that had taken too long. He’d honestly thought this would help, but if the anxiety was only going to make Loki worse, then it wasn’t worth it.

“Perhaps it would be wiser to go back. You’re right. I’ll get the horses, you—”

Loki froze, staring at Thor with fear and pleading in his eyes, his new blade of grass crushed tight between his fingers. It was painfully obvious that Loki had _no_ desire to return, that his feelings were motivated by anxiety and fear of their father’s wrath. Thor fell silent and cursed himself inwardly as Loki looked down, collapsing in on himself as his shoulders sagged in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” Thor murmured, hastening to reassure his brother. “I should have thought this through more. I don’t want to leave, and I want you to stay as well. And if he says anything, if he tries to punish you, we’ll leave, the two of us, for good.”

“You can’t do that, Thor.” Loki kept his gaze fixed down on the strand of grass he’d started to peel in his hands, but some of the tension in his frame had eased, which was enough to reassure Thor. “You know you can’t just up and leave Asgard.”

“Why not?”

“You’re the crown prince, that’s why not,” Loki spat.

Thor sighed. “That doesn’t really matter.” He got to his feet, brushing the grass from his clothing as he rose. “And there’s always you. And Baldr.”

Loki watched him with narrowed eyes for a moment, still shredding his blade of grass, until Thor held his hand out. He grasped it, letting Thor help him to his feet, and dusted himself off while Thor called the horses. They were re-harnessed by the time Loki had finished grooming himself, Thor handing Loki a set of reins when he held out his hand.

They walked back in silence, Loki leading the way, while Thor hoped his brother would forget these worries, at least for the time being.

\---

Thor did his best to distract Loki the rest of the afternoon.

He gave him the task of building the fire in the pit, and when Loki finished that, Thor had been determined to show him how to start a fire using flint. But Loki had merely snapped his fingers and summoned a flame as Thor approached with the flint and striking stone. Thor had quietly put them back into his pack with a rueful smile as Loki fanned and gently blew on the small flame, until it grew and latched onto the wood he had arranged.

Thor had brought some foodstuffs with them, enough for a couple of days, and he assumed that in the morning he would either lay some crude traps or go hunting. He’d brought along a bow and a quiver for that reason, along with some rope to make netting if necessary. But in the meantime, they had dried meat, cheese, bread and fruit to eat, and Thor wasn’t particularly worried about going hungry.

He dragged his pack over to the fireside as darkness began to fall, sitting in the dirt beside it without a care and proceeding to undo the buckles and straps holding it closed. Loki frowned for a long moment before dragging his saddle over and sitting down on that, trying to rearrange his clothes so as to not get any part of them dirty, but he eventually settled himself and looked expectantly at Thor, who handed him the opened pack.

Loki sorted through it delicately, as though the contents were sharp and dangerous, instead of harmless edibles, but eventually selected a chunk of bread, some dried jerky, and a pear, before handing the sack back to his brother.

Thor didn’t immediately dive into the sack, instead watching Loki tentatively nibble a piece of jerky, tearing off a small chunk of bread to accompany the meat. Loki was still withdrawn, but he was functioning, and Thor was completely unsure of how to read this development.

He twisted one of the leather straps in his hand. “Are you…feeling any better?”

“I’m fine, Thor.”

Thor waited a long moment before asking a second question. “Do you want to…talk about anything?”

Loki raised his brows and stopped chewing mid-bite. Thor sighed in frustration at himself and looked back down at the pack, roughly searching through it with no particular item in mind, just using it as a distraction. “I’m sorry,” he added after a second when Loki remained silent. “That was too forward of me.”

Loki finished chewing and stared at his brother. “You don’t have to put yourself down like this all the time,” he said, and Thor froze, hand closed around an apple. “You’re not…doing anything wrong, you know.”

Thor frowned, releasing the apple and instead continuing his search. Loki shifted onto his knees, still watching Thor, who was too scared to make eye contact. He felt like a child about to be gently berated by a parent.

“Just because I don’t leap on an idea doesn’t mean that it’s not good or worthy. I know you’re afraid of doing the wrong thing, but what happened to your confidence, Thor?”

“It was hubris, Loki, not confidence.”

Loki was silent for a long moment. They both knew there was a large degree of truth in Thor’s words. True, he was a fine warrior, and a good leader at times, but he had lacked foresight, lacked any concept of ramifications or consequences, and most of the time he had thought only of himself.

“Perhaps a bit of both, then,” he conceded, a small smile touching the corner of his mouth. “But, still, you’ll need to get past this when you take the throne. The king can hardly throw out all of his ideas simply because they’re not instantly loved in the first few minutes.

Thor said nothing, and the silence between them grew more awkward the longer it drew out. He was painfully aware of the weight of Loki’s gaze on him, the sudden stillness of his brother’s body as he realized something.

“You intend to give up the throne, don’t you?” Loki breathed, partly horrified and partly in disbelief, breaking their silence.

Thor frowned. He said nothing, however, just continued poking the fire, watching embers fly up, floating in the night air like tiny stars before winking out.

“That’s…that’s why you don’t care what Father will say,” Loki continued, voice still oddly strangled. “And why you’ve stopped trying with the Einherjahr. Why you suddenly doubt all your ideas. You…you don’t care about being the crown prince anymore.”

“I don’t want the throne,” was all Thor had to offer. He sighed and began poking at a stone, drawing charcoal lines with the burnt end of his stick, wishing Loki would drop the subject and move on.

Loki leaned forward, a hungry, curious look in his eyes. “Why not, Thor?”

Thor eyed him warily from corner of his eye. As soon as his gaze met Loki’s, he saw that his brother already knew the answer, one that was completely obvious given their situation. Thor hung his head when he saw the acknowledgment in Loki’s eyes, staring back down at the glowing coals to avoid Loki’s gaze.

“You won’t be like him,” Loki insisted. It was an earnest reassurance, but it felt thin, like a reed trying to hold up a great weight. And it did seem a bit hypocritical to Thor, recalling all of the times Loki had likened him to their father, accused him of the same twisted desires and penchant for cruelty. “You’d be nothing like him—”

“I don’t even want to take that chance, Loki,” Thor responded quietly.

“So you’d…you’d rather give up the throne and everything you worked—”

“I didn’t work for it _at all_ ,” he corrected sternly. “I was just lucky. You know that I was always behind you in lessons. The only thing I was ever good at was smashing skulls.”

“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be a good king.” There was a note of beseeching in Loki’s voice, as if trying to make Thor see reason. But how could he explain to Loki that this felt logical to him? He was a man of action, and the more he’d thought about it, the more he’d come to realize that he wasn’t suited for the mundane intricacies of ruling. At least not the way Loki or Baldr would be. He sighed and hunched his shoulder.

“I’d rather just let Baldr inherit the throne.”

There was a long pause. “If that’s what you want, Thor,” Loki finally said, fingers working another morsel of bread free.

Thor just nodded and returned to poking at the fire with his stick, while Loki finished off the rest of his food, sitting silently next to him.

\---

Loki woke at dawn, to the soft sounds of birds singing in the trees and sunlight streaming into the mouth of their shelter. Despite the hard ground and the fact that they were rather exposed to the wilderness, he’d slept well, falling nearly instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep, away from the sights that normally disturbed and unsettled him.

He lay there for a few moments, turning over the events and revelations of last night over in his mind. Thor was stubborn, like a mule or a bull, and Loki knew that not even he could turn him from a path he was dead set on. Loki worried over the abrupt change in Thor’s plans. For his entire life, he’d been groomed to follow his father, and despite Loki’s own private reservations, he’d never imagined that Thor himself would ever choose not to follow Odin and take the throne.

There was the concern, naturally, that somehow this would all snap back on Loki, that Odin and everyone else in Asgard would blame _him_ for their golden prince spurning his birthright, but that concern seemed distant at the moment. Loki was primarily worried Thor was making a decision based solely on emotion, and that it would be one he regretted and resented in time. He knew Thor was trying to make amends for Odin’s abuse and his own neglect, but…this didn’t seem the right way to do it.

And while there was a twisted surge of pleasure at the thought of Thor falling from his pedestal, the memory of Thor’s face in the firelight, shadowed and stark, was enough to quell almost all of it.

After they had finished eating, Thor had pulled out their bedrolls, unfurling them in the cave, a few feet apart from one another. While Loki settled down to sleep, Thor had taken their food and climbed the easiest looking tree he could, securing the pack up high in the branches so that no animals would get at it while they slept. Loki had watched him climb down, pine needles stuck in his hair and sap coating his hands, and then untangled his hair and wiped his hands clean before Thor lay down on his bedroll.

Loki was stiff as he untangled himself from his blankets, a consequence of sleeping on the unforgiving ground, but as he pushed himself to his feet, his limbs began to loosen. He stumbled over to where their belongings were neatly piled, rifling through them until he found a fresh set of clothing for himself, trying to minimize the noise he made so as not to disturb Thor, who was still asleep, a grimace on his face and lines around his mouth.

He crept out of the cave, pulling his boots on outside, and then meandered through the forest to find the nearby stream they had visited the day prior. It was a short walk, and Loki enjoyed the relative silence and the distinct lack of human voices in the wood, relative quiet of his mind as well. Out here, there was no constant barrage of thoughts and emotions triggered by his surroundings; he could be content to listen to the world around him and just _be_.

At the stream’s bank, he found a relatively clean boulder to deposit his clothes onto so that they wouldn’t be soiled by mud or the undergrowth. After a quick, paranoid glance around, to make sure that there was _absolutely_ no one around (although he knew there wasn’t), he shucked his vest and pulled his shirt over his head before peeling off his pants and smallclothes. They were all set in a neat pile beside his clean clothes before Loki stepped into the edge of the stream, crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to hide his chest, and waded in up to his knees. The water was cold, and he could feel the sand squishing between his toes as he walked farther in, until the water was up to his waist, at which point he stopped, deciding he was in far enough.

Loki quickly ducked under the surface once to fully wet himself. The water was frigid, and his skin erupted in goosebumps the moment he resurfaced. He winced and hugged his arms to his chest for a moment as he shivered. The movement forced him to look at his arms, his pale, too-skinny arms, dotted with scars as they neared his chest. Most were old and faded, simple pink splotches that flowed into the undamaged skin around them, but there were fresher, angrier raised ones, including a particularly nasty one that ran in a jagged path from his wrist to midway down his forearm.

There were scars from burns, from cuts, and other forms of torture, both self-inflicted and forced upon him, littering his body in a constant reminder of what he had been subjected to as a child. Loki hated his body. When he was younger, he’d thought he was to blame for what was done to him, and he’d lashed out, taking his rage out on himself. When he’d gotten older, old enough to realize that it wasn’t his fault, he’d continued. It had been comforting, in a way, that control he had, the way Odin’s visage had darkened when he saw them. And after the rape had ceased, it had become too much of a habit to stop. So now, whenever he was distressed or upset, his body bore the brunt of it. His skin was a map of his agony, a permanent reminder of what had been done to him. The scars bothered him now, a sick sense of shame welling within him whenever he saw them (because normal people didn’t _do_ that), so he avoided nakedness except for when it was absolutely necessary.

He set to cleaning himself off quickly, rinsing his hair out and scrubbing his skin with a handful of sand dredged up from the bottom of the stream, scratching at his flesh until it turned pink and tender. He dunked himself under once more, holding his breath and running a hand through his hair to get any snarls out underwater, before he surfaced, shutting his eyes as he wicked the water from them.

He opened them, shaking his head, and looked back at the bank where he had left his clothes, only to be greeted by the sight of Thor, standing there with a poleaxed expression on his face. Loki instantly drew his arms over his chest, trying to hunch in on himself and hide any exposed skin that he could, then dropped to his knees in the water, hiding himself up to his neck.

“I’ll,” Thor paused, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll be waiting for you back at…at the camp.”

Loki stayed under until the sounds of Thor’s footsteps and snapping branches had faded away entirely, until he was certain his brother was gone and wouldn’t be coming back.

He knew Thor had woken up, found Loki missing, and gone searching for him; given Loki’s history, it wasn’t an unreasonable thing to do. But he had caught Loki by surprise, and so Thor had seen something he’d managed to keep hidden from everyone. Thor hadn’t said anything about the scars, but his shock was stamped across his face. Loki knew there would be questions when he went back. Maybe not right away, but eventually, and such questions he was unprepared to deal with right now.

When he finally felt safe enough to, he minced to the edge of the stream, climbing out and letting himself air dry for a few minutes before he pulled on his clean clothes, gathering up the old ones and heading back up the path. Thor was sitting near the remnants of their fire pit, the bow he’d brought spread over his lap, and he was carefully going through the arrows in the quiver, making sure the tips were sharp and the fletches straight. He had a small knife nearby, and judging from the tiny pile of wood shavings near his knee, a few had needed some work.

Thor looked up and smiled as Loki passed, and then went back to his task. Thor wouldn’t ask, Loki realized. He wouldn’t breathe a word about what he saw, give any kind of hint about it, until Loki gave him a sign that it was all right to speak of it. But even then, Loki realized with a flash of insight, Thor wouldn’t inquire about them. He would wait until Loki was ready to speak of it, and if that was never, so be it.

“I was thinking,” Thor said, pushing himself to his feet, “that perhaps you’d like to learn some archery basics? We’ve got nothing to do today.”

Loki looped a strand of hair behind his ear before giving a quick nod. “I’d like that,” he said, and Thor beamed.

“I’m not an expert,” he said, bending to retrieve the arrows and hastily depositing them in the quiver before slinging it over his shoulder, “but I can show you the fundamentals, at least.”

Loki listened patiently as Thor talked while leading them a bit away from their camp, to a small clearing that he deemed fit. He handed Loki the bow and quiver rather unceremoniously, and then headed off to an oak tree across from them, sticking the knife he’d been using firmly into its bark.

“This,” he said, “is your target. Sorry it’s so small.”

He walked back over to Loki, who was holding the bow and quiver in a way that clearly demonstrated that he had no idea what to do with them, and Thor smiled, placing his hands on Loki’s shoulders in order to turn him.

“Stand like this, no, turn your foot a bit more,” he said, using one of his massive boots to nudge Loki’s feet into the right stance. “There. That’s it.” Loki found himself turned sideways, with his left arm toward the target, and Thor grasped Loki’s forearm and pulled it up.

He forced Loki to hold his arm at shoulder level. “You want your arm high,” he explained, and then settled the bow in Loki’s hand, showing him where to hold it. “Now your other hand,” he continued, “holds the arrow and the string.”

Thor reached behind Loki’s head and pulled forth an arrow, showing his brother where the tiny notch in the end lay, the one to fit the bowstring into, and how to draw back the bow. He stood behind Loki, one hand wrapped hesitantly over his brother’s on the bow, the other pulling his right arm up and backwards, wary of the bronze gauntlets his brother had chosen to wear that day. Thor was being extra careful with him, and Loki couldn’t help but think it was a by-product of their encounter earlier today.

“Arm up,” he said, nudging Loki’s elbow. “Aim a little high, too. Your arrow will fall as it flies.” Loki glanced down at his own wrist, trying to keep his hand steady, and he could see the very tip of that pink scar protruding from beneath his shirtsleeve. He wondered if Thor saw it as well, if he was now looking for every exposed bit that he could see.

Loki took a deep breath, his body contorted stiffly, arms too high for his liking, and then drew the bow back hesitantly, surprised at how much effort it took to pull the string, feeling the sting as it lightly dug into his flesh. He managed one feeble shot that ended up in the roots of the oak, and Thor clapped him on the shoulder for it. His next shot went to the left and ended up in the brush somewhere, along with the third, but the fourth shot stuck in the tree, about a head’s length below where Thor’s paring knife sat.

Loki kept shooting until half the arrows in the quiver were gone, most stuck in the tree now, but he gave in when his arms started to tire out. Thor took the quiver from him and retrieved those stuck in the tree, along with his knife, before they returned to the camp, Loki’s shoulders pleasantly sore.

“Perhaps you’d like a bow in the future?” Thor asked him as they trudged their way back up.

“It’d be a waste. I’m not much good, Thor,” Loki said.

Thor shrugged. “That means you can only get better.”

\---

Thor took the horses down to the stream and out to the meadow when they returned. Loki caught him as he was undoing the hobbles and reaffixing the hackamore bridles, holding out his hand, and Thor handed over a set of reins, glancing at the spot on Loki’s wrist where he’d seen the scar.

“I didn’t think you’d want to come,” Thor said as they started to trudge through the undergrowth.

“What else am I going to do?” Loki retorted. “There’s not a lot of entertainment out here.” He punctuated the sentence with a smile to take the sting out of the words, and they continued on in silence.

Thor let the horses go out into the meadow once more, sitting on the hillside with Loki, dropping the reins in a pile next to him. Loki carefully arranged himself beside Thor, digging through the grass to find a scraggly-looking wildflower, one half mangled by the elements and its imposing neighbors, and he started to pick it apart, pulling the leaves off first before turning to the twisted, drooping petals.

“You don’t have to…to pretend you didn’t see anything, Thor,” he murmured, breaking the silence between them.

Thor looked up at him, confusion in his blue eyes, mixed with a bit of shame, which Loki assumed was due to how transparent, albeit well-intentioned, his ruse was. “I don’t…know what you want me to say about it,” Thor said, brushing his blond hair out of his face.

“Do they bother you? The scars?” Loki pulled his gauntlets off, unstrapping them from over his shirt before setting them neatly beside him, near the pile of reins Thor had left. He pushed up his sleeves once the gauntlets were out of the way, baring his arms, imperfections and all, to Thor.

“Yes,” Thor confessed, his brows furrowing together, but his gaze remained locked on Loki’s arms.

“Why?”

Thor sighed. “Because they’re…they’re reminders.” He reached for Loki’s arm, and Loki gently placed his hand in Thor’s, rough hands skimming over his flesh to trace the pink and purple lines left there from years of abuse.

Loki blinked and looked down at the scars as well. He had no response to Thor’s statement, because it was simply true. Each scar served as a totem of the suffering behind it, of the events that had precipitated it, each ugly, twisted, discolored mark a testament to a time when he had been used or raped or simply reminded of such. All of them together painted a portrait of self-hatred and self-loathing, of an existence fueled by anguish and despair.

“Were they all from him?”

Thor’s question pulled Loki from his thoughts. “No,” he admitted. “Almost all of them…I did myself.” The last part of the statement had Loki’s voice rising, almost in disbelief, and Loki realized it was the first time he had truly admitted such a thing aloud, even to himself. His father was the one who had scarred his mind, but Loki had mutilated his body by his own hand. The visible reminders, the ones everyone else would see…he’d done himself.

Thor’s hand tightened around his arm. “Can you promise me something, Loki?”

“What?” he asked as Thor released him.

“Promise me you won’t do this to yourself anymore?”

Loki felt a frog form in his throat. He couldn’t promise that to Thor, not when he couldn’t even see what tomorrow held, let alone the distant future. Anything beyond this very moment existed as a black, nebulous cloud, and there was no certainty to be found within it.

He shook his head no, biting his lip, and felt Thor tense, his brother’s expression heartbreakingly discouraged. “I can’t promise you that I’ll never do it again. I would be lying.” He paused. “But I can try.”

Green eyes darted up to look at Thor, trying to make him understand, to keep from damaging this new understanding he had with him. “I’m sorry that’s all I can give you, Thor; I know you want a definite answer—”

“That you’ll try is enough,” Thor murmured. He pushed the reins aside and scooted to sit beside Loki, one arm hesitantly poised over his brother’s shoulders, hovering, but not touching until Loki glanced at Thor from the corner of his eye, and nodded his permission. Thor pulled him close, Loki laying his head on Thor’s and shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” Thor whispered, stroking Loki’s hair as he often did when they were close. “I can’t even fathom how you survived this.”

Loki shifted against him. “I didn’t,” he murmured sadly. “Not really. I blocked it out, Thor. I don’t…there are lots of things I don’t remember, entire chunks of my life, just…gone, like smoke in the wind. But these things I’ve buried, they’re not really gone, and they come back to haunt me. Sometimes little things, sometimes big, but they’re always there, waiting, and I have no defense against them.

“I wish…I wish I could tell you that things will be fine, Brother,” he continued after a moment. “That I’ll be all right from here on out. I really, really wish I could, Thor. That I could tell you that you wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. But I can’t.” He paused for a long moment, placing his hand on Thor’s chest and gripping his tunic fiercely.

“I never even thought I’d…I’d be alive at this age, Thor,” he continued, shutting his eyes and turning his face into Thor’s chest. “There are still so many times when I wish I wasn’t.”

Thor was silent for a long, long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly and almost broken. “Did you ever…did you ever t-try before?”

Loki frowned, glancing up at Thor and warning him about asking questions he didn’t want to know the answer to. But Thor just looked steadily back at him, with no judgment, just concern, and with a level of acceptance Loki hadn’t ever thought to see. The who’d choked Loki in his room could never have listened to these things, but this Thor…this Thor could. “Yes,” he breathed, and the word felt surreal on his tongue.

It was somehow cathartic, to have someone else know, to carry the burden a bit, and Loki tightened his grip on Thor’s shirt. He knew Thor wouldn’t press him for details, but suddenly Loki wanted to share, not eagerly, but hoping that perhaps by finally telling someone, by facing and acknowledging these events, he could begin to put the ghosts to rest.

“The first time…I was still young. Right around the time I should’ve…should’ve gotten weapons, become a _real_ man.” He pauses to laugh at the utter injustice of it all, his voice heavily cynical. “It was right after Father pulled me from those lessons. I didn’t…I didn’t want to be condemned as _ergi_ for the rest of my life. I wanted it all to just stop—the abuse, the inferiority, everything.”

He swallowed, aware of the tears now running freely down his face and of Thor’s arms holding him so fiercely he thought he would break, and he took a moment to compose himself, to remind himself that these things were in the past, that they were just memories. “And so I poisoned myself,” he continued, sneaking a hand up to wipe some of the tears from his face. “I scoured through the books in the library until I found one on poisons, mostly for things to be used in sieges, and I picked one that had ingredients I could get my hands on, and then I drank it and just…waited to die. Just laid down on my bed and waited, and I was still so scared....”

Thor squeezed him tighter, an unspoken reassurance of, _But you didn’t._

“I got sick and passed out, I remember that. And then I woke up the next morning and spent the rest of the week ill. I was so…so disappointed and yet almost…relieved. That fear was gone, the fear of dying. I realized I wanted to be dead without actually having to die.”

He laughed bitterly. “I only survived because I wasn’t… _I’m not_ Aesir. I discovered years later that jötnar are…highly resistant to most poisons.

“The next time I was older. I wanted it to be final, something that I couldn’t wake up from, but I was so afraid of _pain_ that I threw out most options. Eventually things got so terrible that I didn’t care about pain anymore, the isolation and the hurt were just so pressing and demanding that I would do anything to be free.” He started to pant, nervous now, still feeling sick, but spurred on by the relief he hoped would come at the end.

“I…after I lost Idunn I knew everyone would hate me. And so before I came back to Asgard I…I stopped on Idavoll, found a decent-sized spring there. And I took a boulder and I just…laid down in the center of this little river there, with the boulder on my chest.” He paused again to swallow. “Drowning is _awful,_ Thor. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever endured. I don’t…I don’t recall how, but somehow I got it off my chest and struggled to the surface.”

He let out a shudder of a breath. “The last time…was a while after I’d given you Mjolnir, and Father Gungnir. I…I thought the gifts would make things better, but he still…and you were still furious with me over what I’d done to Sif, along with the rest of Asgard, and I just saw no reason to keep going.

“So I decided that this time I wouldn’t leave anything to chance or fate. I stole one of those big hunting knives from the armory and snuck it back to my room. I didn’t…I didn’t care about pain anymore; I’d been stabbed and cut up on those expeditions with you. And so I hid in my room the night I stole it and after some thinking I unsheathed it and….”

Thor flinched beneath him, his arms spasming around Loki, but Loki forced himself to go on, forced himself to finish.

“I had the knife in my stomach, Thor, and I pressed it in and then there was so much _blood_ and it _hurt_ and I just stopped. I was so scared already and then there was blood everywhere and it made it…made it so much more _real,_ and I panicked and stopped. I cleaned up all of the blood and…and stitched the wound, and it healed up quick enough.” A lull. “The last time I tried was…was the night we fought in the Vault. I meant to cut my throat, but….”

He coughed weakly. “I couldn’t even do that, Thor. I just gave up and laid down to die. I was so tired of everything I couldn’t even find the effort anymore.”

Loki felt Thor’s fingers digging into him, holding him with unprecedented fervor, as if trying to make sure that Loki was really there and not some apparition. “If I ever lost you, Loki,” Thor breathed, voice ready to crack at any second, “I would search every branch of Yggdrasil, every realm, until I found you, no matter where you hid.”

Thor held him for what felt like hours, arms wrapped tightly around his body, until the horses had come back of their own accord. Loki sighed as Thor released him, watching his brother harness the animals as he slowly picked himself up, dusting the grass and dirt from his clothing. Suddenly there were hands on his waist, lifting him up and setting him onto the back of the chestnut.

Loki grabbed a fistful of mane to keep his balance, while Thor took hold of the reins and led them back to camp.

\---

Their conversation at dinner was lighter, the two swapping stories of adventures past and fond memories as they finished the last of the food Thor had brought. Thor announced that he would go hunting the next morning, since Loki wanted to stay at least another day. There were plenty of arrows in the quiver, and even if Thor were unsuccessful, they could always curtail their trip and go hungry for one day.

They cleaned up after dinner and went to bed down, Thor falling asleep almost immediately while Loki lay awake, staring drowsily at his brother. Eventually he drifted off into a light, fitful rest, not truly relaxed, and he woke, startled, to the sounds of wind in the trees some time later. Thor was still asleep, spread out on his back, his blankets scattered about him.

Loki watched him for a bit, noting Thor’s perpetually tensed expression, before he settled back into his own blankets, shutting his eyes and pulling his covers tight around him. He lay still for a time, listening to Thor’s breathing and occasional snore, wishing he could simply crawl over to his brother’s side and lay next to him, savoring his comfort and warmth.

It was a slow torture, being around Thor and only Thor and not being able to act on any of his desires. The only thing keeping him from acting out some of his fantasies was his own restraint. Loki sighed, knowing what a fragile thing that was, and opened his eyes once more, focusing on Thor’s face. He turned over, thinking that if he got Thor out of his sight, he could get him out of his mind as well.

Recently, he’d thought his hatred of Thor would quell those old longings for him, would finally let him get over this wanting. But as his relationship with Thor had strengthened, as they’d become friendly and close once more, he found those desires returning.

There was nothing _truly_ stopping him from traversing the short distance between them and curling up near Thor. In fact, his brother hadn’t denied him when Loki had come to him before; there was no reason as to why he would deny him now. Well, there was a reason, Loki’s subconscious snidely reminded him, but Thor hadn’t mentioned it in ages, and Loki had begun to wonder if Thor had truly gotten over it.

“Thor?” he whispered in the darkness, rolling back over to face his brother. There was no response, only the sound of Thor’s steady breathing, and Loki turned onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, trying to get a better look at Thor.

Loki couldn’t tell how deeply asleep Thor was, and so he decided to just curl up next to him and press his luck. He pulled his blankets with him as he shifted, resting near Thor, tentatively laying his head on his brother’s chest and throwing an arm over him.

There was a soft snort and then Thor shifted, his breathing cutting off sharply and ending in a cough. “Loki?” he whispered in disbelief.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Loki murmured. He heard the soft _thunk_ of Thor’s head lolling back on the blankets, and he wondered just how awake Thor was. “Can I stay like this?”

There was a long, tenuous pause, and a sigh, before Thor answered, “Yes, you can.”

Loki curled himself a bit tighter around Thor, closing his eyes once more as sleep, amplified through the warmth of Thor’s body and the comfort of his presence, called him once more. This time his rest was dreamless but deeper, a welcome change from the nightmares that frequently plagued him back home.

His body woke him, sated and warm, several hours later, when dawn had fully broken, and Loki found himself even more entangled with Thor, his arm still tossed carelessly across his chest, a fistful of Thor’s loose gray shirt in his hand tentatively anchoring him there. But Loki’s legs were now entwined with Thor’s, one thigh parting his brother’s. He nuzzled Thor’s shoulder to get the sleep from his eyes, his brother still deeply asleep, and then Loki started to untangle himself from Thor, releasing his shirt and starting to pull his leg away.

He froze when he accidentally brushed Thor’s groin, unintentionally feeling his brother’s stiffness. It wasn’t uncommon in the mornings, Loki knew, having woken up in such a state himself many times, but the fact that Thor had done so with Loki clinging to him twisted through his mind. Thor had stated many times that they were brothers, that nothing carnal should occur between them, yet…

…yet Thor had pulled him down on the bed that fateful night. Thor had let him sleep in his bed. Thor had let him curl up here, against him. Thor had often held him when Loki was upset or depressed, reached out to touch and reassure him. Thor had said he would do anything and everything for Loki, that he loved him above all else.

Loki cursed himself. Thor wasn’t like that, he reasoned. Thor didn’t love him the way he loved Thor…did he? No, Loki thought. Thor wasn’t broken, wasn’t damaged and perverted beyond repair, wasn’t twisted and _sick._

But if there was nothing wrong with Thor, and he had done these things…did that mean he could accept Loki like that? Accept Loki’s love? Did he, perhaps, indeed reciprocate it, despite his protests?

Could they be lovers, as Loki had always wanted?

His head was spinning now, taxed by too many thoughts and possibilities assaulting his consciousness, fantasies conjuring themselves in his mind’s eye as he pushed himself to his feet, slipping out from beneath the blankets to stumble out of the cave and into the fresh air. He wandered about the campsite for a minute, checking on the horses and their packs, and then set off for the stream.

After an uneventful walk there, Loki sat on the edge, shucking his boots and dipping his feet in the water, watching the flow lines and ripples on the surface. The prospect of Thor returning his feelings, returning the desires and longings that Loki had long ago condemned as wrong, as base and sordid, was both fascinating and frightening to him.

He stayed at the stream for a while, mulling those thoughts over and then trying to clear his head, pushing thoughts of Thor’s affections out of his mind, resolving to think about it later, when they were back within the palace walls. When they were back where things were… _normal._ He pulled his feet from the stream, letting them dry before yanking his boots back on and marching back to camp.

Thor was awake when he returned, sitting on the ground with the bow at his side, re-sharpening several of the arrows they’d used in their practice session the other day, and he gave Loki a tired smile as he approached.

“You’re going out hunting?”

Thor nodded. “There are two apples and a crust of bread left in the bag for you, but aside from that, there’s nothing to eat. And I must warn you, the bread’s rather stale.” Thor went back to working on the arrow, and his response lacked the enthusiasm Loki had come to know, now more dry and curt.

“All right,” Loki said, standing over him. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

Thor shrugged. “Hopefully not all day.” He dusted the last bits of dust from his pants, and then stood, taking the quiver and several arrows with him. The bow was retrieved a second later, the quiver then slung over his shoulder, and Thor gave him a quick, nervous grin, meeting Loki’s eyes for a moment as he turned and set off into the woods.

Loki was left to his own devices for a short while, rather grateful that Thor was out of camp and no longer there to confuse him with his very presence. He cleaned up their things, reorganizing the packs, and then took the horses out, watching them frolic about the meadow until they came back to him.

As he was leading the animals back to their camp he heard the sounds of Thor busying himself, of frustrated grunts and temperamental sighs, and he hitched the horses to their pine tree before marching into the camp.

Thor was hunched over a deer carcass, up to his elbows in blood as he skinned and butchered the animal. Loki approached him cautiously, feeling his stomach churn as he watched Thor move. The deer’s back was to Loki, Thor sitting on the opposite side of it and working in the animal’s belly, but each time his hands withdrew, coated in blood, Loki winced. The pile of entrails near his brother didn’t help, either, and Loki kept his eyes trained on the ground before him.

“I saw you took the horses,” Thor said, glancing at Loki, the friendly gleam back in his eyes. “I wondered if you’d left me out here.” He laughed, focused once more on his task, grimacing as he pulled some more viscera from the carcass, dropping it near the body, thankfully out of Loki’s field of vision.

Loki gave him a weak smile. “I wouldn’t do that, Brother.”

Thor asked him to find some fresh tinder for them, and Loki was grateful to be out of the camp and away from the carcass. He understood that the hunt, that the slaughter and preparation of subsequent kills were a part of life, that these ugly, gruesome tasks were necessary to produce the fine feasts he had frequently indulged in at the palace, but Loki understood none of the glamour that was put into it, none of the allure that his brother and friends experienced. Why they liked to go sulking about the cold forests to clobber beasts and drag their hides home was beyond him, and Loki supposed it always would be.

By the time he returned Thor had cleaned up the entrails and set the meat on the hide, ready to be smoked and roasted. Loki set up the tinder and lit it, and Thor cooked their meat on a crude rack of saplings he’d woven together. As they ate, Loki noticed that Thor seemed more relaxed than he had this morning. They smoked the rest of the meat for the next day, Thor burning some of the wetter, fresher logs that Loki had brought back to get more smoke going.

They sat watching the fire, Thor sharpening his knife and Loki idly watching the flames, the two of them talking in fits of sporadic conversation, until a long silence fell over them, and the scrape of Thor’s blade on the whetstone was the only sound resonating through their camp. After what felt like hours, Thor cleared his throat, holding his blade up in the firelight to study it for a moment.

“Loki, give me your palm.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “You look like a madman with a knife in your hand. Why would I let you touch me?”

Thor didn’t seem perturbed by Loki’s response. “Fine, then,” he said, lifting his own palm, and before Loki even had a chance to stop him, he wrapped his hand around the knife and drew it through in one swift motion. Loki gasped in surprise, frantically looking for something to stem the bleeding with as Thor unfurled his fingers, frowning slightly at the new wound there.

“It’ll do,” he said, and Loki was certain he was speaking to himself.

“Thor, you dolt, what are you—” Loki paused as Thor flexed his hand slightly, smearing the crimson fluid all over the lines of his palm.

“I mean to make us blood brothers, Loki.”

Loki’s mouth fell slightly agape. “No, Thor,” he snapped, getting up off of his feet. He had seen some bandages in one of the packs Thor had thrown together, and for once he was grateful Thor had _some_ kind of foresight.

“Why not?” Thor called after him.

There was a soft _thud_ as Loki dropped to his knees, rummaging through the packs he had recently reorganized. He pulled them open, trying to simply focus on finding them and not his fear of Thor’s request, grateful when the gauze rolls turned up. He lingered for a long moment, squeezing the roll of soft cloth in his hands, mulling over Thor’s offer in his head.

He didn’t want to be Thor’s _brother._ If they formed a blood bond between them, it would mean viewing the other as a family member. Loki wanted none of that, not when he could finally see the possibility of Thor coming to see him as a lover. Becoming Thor’s blood brother would kill that likelihood before it was even realized.

But he appreciated the sentiment. It stood as another reminder of Thor’s devotion to him, of his willingness to give Loki anything he could to try and repair bonds long broken and shattered or fix that which his father had corrupted. That Thor willingly wanted to make Loki his blood brother, make him a _true_ family member in not only their eyes, but in the eyes of Asgard around them, that he had picked Loki of all people, despite his flaws, said something of Thor and how he had grown.

“Thor, I can’t,” he said, rising to his feet and hurrying over to his brother. “I can’t. I know what I am and that I’m not your brother, though I call you otherwise.” He paused to kneel, gingerly taking Thor’s injured hand, despite his brother’s efforts to yank it away. “As much as you grew up believing we were siblings, I was raised knowing we were not.”

“Do you not wish to change that?” Thor’s voice was devastated, but his blue eyes still clearly hoped for Loki to change his answer.

Loki bit his lip, unrolling the gauze. “No,” he said gently.

“Oh,” Thor said, and his disappointment wiped any expression from his face. He laughed softly, and Loki knew in that instant Thor was tearing himself up over everything he had ever done wrong in his life, over every slight he had ever committed against Loki, both large and small. He would find himself unworthy, Loki knew, and he quickly grabbed Thor’s hand and started to wrap the gauze around it.

“I can’t, Thor,” he murmured. “Not right now. Maybe someday.”

Thor sighed, turning his torso away from Loki, his arm extended, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his free arm around them. “You don’t have to defend your choice to me,” he replied. Loki glanced at him, Thor’s gaze settled elsewhere, but he could read the rest of Thor’s comment on his face: _I wouldn’t want to be my brother, either._

Loki focused on Thor’s hand, binding the gauze until no streaks of red showed through, and then tied it off securely. He sat back on his heels, Thor pulling his hand back towards him as he curled his arm around his knees, and neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“I love you, Thor,” Loki said, patting his brother’s shoulder.

Thor glanced over, and when he met Loki’s gaze his face softened a bit, eyes turning from regretful to mildly optimistic. “Can I still call you ‘Brother?’” he asked, brows knitting together in consternation.

“Of course.”

Thor smiled weakly. He offered no protests when Loki helped him up and tucked him into his bedroll, curling up next to him, and soon they were both asleep.

\---

When Thor awoke, it was to the sounds of horse hooves and frustrated muttering. He turned over, facing the mouth of the cave, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before getting to his feet. He pulled on his boots and stumbled into the sunlight, noting that their packs were gone from the cave.

“Loki?” he asked, heading down the narrow path to where their horses were. Loki was struggling with the saddle of the chestnut, trying to tighten the buckle while keeping the saddle aligned properly. He stopped when he saw Thor, not breathing a word, but just watching his brother as Thor carefully approached, and then placed a hand on either side of the saddle, holding it in place. Loki adjusted the strap, and then let it go, staring back at Thor and waiting for a response.

“Back to Asgard, then?” said Thor, patting the chestnut’s mane.

“Yes.” Loki handed him the reins of the chestnut.

Thor twisted them in his hand for a long second. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but:
> 
> Idavoll is a plain that's a part of Asgard. The woods are another name pulled from the Prose Edda.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much, much love to Moiraine again for editing this (it was a rough chapter), and much love to my loyal fans and commenters! It was really, really reassuring to see the comments I got last chapter! :) Some notes--
> 
> Fulla is one of Frigga's sort-of handmaidens in the mythology. I picked her because she seemed to have the clearest function of the listed goddesses in Snorri's Edda.
> 
> I really, really hope no one takes offense at Loki's actions in the end of the chapter. They are in no way meant to be a slight towards incest survivors but rather an extension and continuation of a subplot presented earlier in the story, one heavily hinted at in the last chapter. Please know that it was not my intent to offend any survivors with what I've written here.

Despite his brother’s claim, Thor knew Loki wasn’t ready to return to Asgard.

He noted the subtle grimace that appeared on Loki’s face, the one he tried to mask before charging ahead of Thor so his brother could no longer see his expression. Thor understood that his brother must hate the home they live in, must abhor being trapped within its walls. It must have been something akin to walking in a waking nightmare for Loki, stalking the palace halls with fear and repulsion in his heart. He wondered why Loki hadn’t run off before, until dark thoughts of his father’s threats answered his own question. Thor wished he could keep his brother from the palace, help him leave Asgard entirely, though the thought of living without Loki at his side made his stomach lurch.

“Loki, stop,” he called after him as they rounded a crest. There wasn’t much of their journey left, but they were certainly far enough out that no one would have seen their impending arrival yet. If he were to suggest this, now was the time.

Loki pulled sharply on the reins of his horse, causing it to rear slightly as it stopped. Thor trotted the short distance between them, Loki looking over at him with a tense, irritated expression, that Thor knew was caused from dread than any anger at him.

“You shouldn’t go back,” he said. “Take your horse and leave, leave Asgard entirely. You know how to travel without the Bifrost—”

“No, Thor.”

“Why not, Loki?” Thor asked, his voice low and concerned. “No one has seen us returning yet. You can go where Father will never find you, and you can easily shield yourself from Heimdall’s eyes; I’ve seen you do it.” Loki stared at the grass beneath him and offered no response. “That place…it’s not good for you, and you shouldn’t be forced to go back to it.”

“I should do a lot of things, but I’m not going to,” Loki murmured.

Thor’s grip on his reins tightened in frustration and concern. “I won’t tell anyone because I won’t even know _where_ you’ve gone,” he continued. “You can go, Loki, you can be rid of all of this—”

Loki sighed. “I’m going back, Thor.”

“Don’t—”

Loki glared at him, an almost hurt glint in his eyes. “You are the _one_ thing that got me through all those awful times, Thor,” he said, his teeth gritted. “Don’t push me away now.”

“I just want what’s best for you—”

“I know. I know you do,” Loki sighed heavily. “But how is taking away the sole reason I ever…?” Loki broke off, clenching his jaw, but continued a moment later, “How can that be good for me?”

Thor brushed his hair from his face. He hadn’t though of it that way, of Loki feeling like he was forced out without anyone by his side to help him. What, did he think Loki’s problems would vanish simply because Loki was no longer _physically_ in Asgard. At that moment, Thor felt himself a fool.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “You’re right.”

Loki’s horse stamped its hoof impatiently and Loki’s lips tightened along with his hands on the reins as he settled the animal. “Don’t be sorry,” he said, offering a small, tight smile. “I appreciate the thought. Let’s keep going, shall we?” Nudging his heels against his horse, he started back along the road.

Thor nodded, and then urged his horse after Loki’s, the two of them settling into an easy canter. They remained side by side for the rest of the journey, Thor shooting his brother occasional worried looks from time to time, while Loki’s gaze remained fixed on the road before them. Thor found himself wondering if he were truly the reason that Loki stayed, if his presence was worth what Loki had to endure in order to have it.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind as they arrived at the stables, and he busied himself with tending to their horses, dismissing the eager grooms who tried to take over the task. The packs were unstrapped and piled near the door, the horses led inside and given stalls. Thor took the tack off his chestnut first, the saddle, bridle and blanket set down neatly at the edge of the stall. From the corner of his eye, he gave Loki a speculative look, and employed a rather simple guise for keeping his brother busy while he finished with the horses. Thor fetched one of the rough brushes hanging from the wall, handed it to Loki, and pointed at the chestnut.

“Will you brush him while I untack yours?” He held out the brush, Loki’s eyes darting briefly from it, to Thor, and then finally settling on the horse. Then he took the brush from Thor, stepped over to the animal, and started to run the brush over the horse’s coat in long, even strokes.

Thor shut the stall door and slipped into the next one, quickly undoing the leather buckles and slipping the bridle over the horse’s ears and off its head. The saddle was next, unfastened and then lifted off, Thor holding the leather seat while he pulled the saddle blanket free and then set both down next to the bridle.

He patted the gray’s back before glancing over at his brother, watching Loki gently brushing the chestnut’s shoulder, his hand moving in small, neat motions while the other carefully petted his neck. The faint sounds of humming reverberated around the stable, and Thor gave a snort of laughter. Loki jerked his head to stare at Thor from over his shoulder.

“What?”

“I didn’t think you’d like horses, is all,” Thor said, bemused, bending to pick up the equipment. He nudged the stall door open with his foot, pushing it shut with his back as he stepped out, making a note to lock it before they left. “I thought they’d smell too much like straw and… _horse_ for you to like.”

“I can see your talent for words is as awe-inspiring as ever, Brother,” Loki quipped. “And I’ve never disliked horses. They’re quiet. Loyal. They don’t judge the way people do.”

Thor set the tack down along the stable where the grooms would clean, oil and replace it, and then walked to Loki’s stall, being sure to lock the gray in before opening the door. He retrieved that equipment and put it with the rest, waiting outside Loki’s stall. His brother glanced over, gave the horse a final pat on the shoulder, and then stepped out of the stall.

Thor shut the door behind him, slipping the peg of the lock through and twisting it, giving the door a little shake to make certain it was shut. Loki wandered over to their packs and lifted his, struggling for a moment to balance them, and then turned to wait for Thor, biting his lip and shifting from foot to foot as he waited for Thor to settle his packs on his back.

Loki was difficult to read these days, more than he had been in the past, and Thor knew that his own… _obtuse_ nature didn’t help. His brother would be affectionate and open one moment, then cold and closed off and so utterly _angry_ the next, and Thor could never tell what comment or word or gesture would set him off. He wanted to crack open Loki’s skull and find a neatly-written list of things he was and wasn’t supposed to do or say. But this time, he knew the cause of Loki’s growing unease.

“I’ll speak with Mother and Father,” he said quietly once they were inside and by themselves in one wide hallway. Loki gave a quick, furtive nod in response

“Will you be all right?” Thor asked when Loki took a hesitant step away, heading toward his own chambers. “I promise you, Loki, you won’t be punished—”

“I know, Thor,” Loki rushed, stepping forward and pulling a somewhat startled Thor into a quick embrace. His arms locked around Thor for a brief moment, chin resting on his brother’s shoulder, and Thor’s arms tentatively closed around him. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re certain—”

“I am.” An ephemeral smile lit up Loki’s face. “Stop worrying.”

 _I have reason to, Loki,_ Thor thought, but all he returned was a quick smile, and released his brother to go their separate ways.

Thor watched him go for a moment before setting off for his bedchamber. It felt strange, to part ways in such a cursory manner after they’d spent so much time together over the past few days, but however reluctant Thor was to let Loki go off alone, he realized that they certainly needed some time apart. He would unpack his things, take a much-needed bath, speak with his mother and father, find something to eat, and then, in the late afternoon, check on his brother.

With those distractions in place, he wouldn’t leave himself much time to worry about Loki. His brother seemed fine, and Thor needed a break from the nagging worry that ate away at him as much as Loki needed to not have Thor hovering over him.

 

\---

Thor would have completely avoided his parents if it were at all possible.

But in order to keep a semblance of normalcy, he was forced to see them, have conversations, and most of all, pretend like he didn’t know the extent of the evils and cruelty they’d committed. It was much, much harder than Thor had previously anticipated, and Thor couldn’t quite grasp how Loki had managed to limp through it all these years.

 _He had no other choice,_ Thor told himself, but it didn’t diminish the accomplishment. Thor didn’t think he would have been able to do so, to suffer the horrors Loki had endured and then be forced to confront his abusers on a nearly daily basis. Loki may have been relatively inexperienced in matters of war and battle, Thor realized, but he’d been fighting his whole life.

Thor longed to confront Odin and Frigga, but he knew Loki would never allow it. It would only complicate matters and create a schism in the family, one that would almost certainly be pinned on Loki. It was painful to acknowledge, but no amount of Thor’s fury was worth putting Loki through more suffering. So he bit back any accusations that burst forth when speaking to his parents, put on his best sickly-sweet, caring grin, and struggled through it whenever he had to speak to them.

His father upset Thor the most. The mere sight of the old man made Thor nearly ill with rage. And when they conversed, Loki’s words would drift across his mind, wiping away all of his anger and replacing it with self-loathing and fear. _You share blood with this man,_ he would remind himself. _Who’s to say you won’t end up like him? A monster disguised as a king._

The similarities he already shared with his father had begun to frighten Thor. No amount of childhood idolization could remove the tarnish that Loki’s revelations had given the image of his father., He didn’t _want_ to be like his father. He _wouldn’t_ be like his father. Deep down, he knew that his recent behavior, in the sparring ring and among the public, was an unconscious reaction to that, a desire to separate himself from his father.

When the name Odison was mentioned with scorn, he privately thrilled.  _Good_ , he thought. _Belittle the name of Odin, for that’s what it deserves_. Looking in the mirror and seeing Odin’s face in his was troubling, and when his nose was broken, marring that resemblance, the pain had been a sweet relief. And when he was castigated for laying aside arms, for only putting a token effort into sparring, he felt no shame. Let them think the son of a warrior-king was afraid of playing at war.

But the largest similarity of all—the title that his father held, that was to one day be his—Thor rejected outright. The thought of ascending to his father’s position, of sitting in the throne from where his father ruled all of Asgard, holding and wielding all that power…. It was too daunting for Thor. He was terrified that _that_ was what might tip him over the edge, reveal the monster lurking inside. And he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what had happened to Odin. His father couldn’t always have been like that, could he? If there was even the slimmest chance that this might do to him what it had done to Odin, Thor wasn’t about to risk it.

If he could, he would have given the throne to Loki, but he knew his parents would never allow it. Moreover, though, Thor toyed with the prospect of abdicating to Loki once Odin and Frigga had passed on, but given how Loki was regarded by the people, it was unlikely they would accept it.

And so that left Baldr. Thor’s youngest sibling; bright, innocent and brave, and most importantly, untouched by this darkness that marred the rest of them. He was Thor’s hope to avoid succession. He would prove himself an unfit son in his father’s eye, and since Loki wasn’t an option, that meant the throne would fall to Baldr. Thor wasn’t bitter about any of this, considering he was the one orchestrating it; rather, he found the prospect freeing.

Frigga was the first to come to him, although due to Thor’s recent behavior, he suspected his father wouldn’t bother to seek him out. She came to his chambers as Thor was finishing unpacking his things, having eaten and washed. He was dressed in a fine doublet, with a new shirt and clean trousers, his hair washed free of grime and mud and grease, his beard now neatly trimmed once more. She was as elegant as ever, wearing a cream gown dotted with countless gems that glinted in the afternoon light, and she scrutinized Thor, looking for anything out of place, any cut or bruise or injury that she could fawn over.

“Mother,” he said, slightly startled, the half-empty leather pack nearly slipping from his hands.

She rushed up to him, embracing him tightly as Thor fought the urge to squirm from her grasp like a restless child. “My son,” she said fondly, squeezing him a bit, before releasing him, a hand on either of his arms.

“I hope you didn’t worry over us,” Thor said, reaching in the pack once more.

She smoothed out his doublet. “A mother always worries,” she chided. “Your father was a bit…angry, but he’s fine now.”

“Angry with me?”

She frowned, clearly not wishing to dwell on the subject. “And your brother.” A pause. “But he’s been busying himself with matters of state, so it was quickly forgotten.”

Thor knew he would have to speak with his father soon, and he frowned at the prospect. However, Frigga seemed not to take note of it and continued on.

“It’s good to have you back in the palace,” she murmured, taking a step back from him. “It can get rather lonely at times, with only Fulla and the other servants for company.”

“It’s good to be home,” Thor lied.

She smiled. “Certainly better than sleeping on the ground, I’d hope.” She reached up to brush a lock of hair from his face. “Will we be seeing you and your brother at dinner tonight?”

“Of course, Mother.”

“Wonderful,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’ll let you finish your unpacking. You must still be exhausted from your ride in.”

Thor shook his head. “Nothing a good night’s sleep in my own bed can’t fix.”

She laughed softly and then bid him goodbye, heading to the door. Just before she reached it, however, Thor called out to her.

“Mother?” he began, and she turned to face him. “Where is Father? I wish to see him, once I’m finished here.”

“Either the throne room or the study,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

Thor nodded in acknowledgment, and then she slipped soundlessly out the door. He waited until it had shut before he shoved the last few items from the bag haphazardly on his shelves, tossing his dirty clothing in a heap at the foot of his bed. Eventually one of the servants would be by to collect it and he wasn’t particularly concerned with them seeing the sorry state of his room.

He checked the throne room first, finding it empty save for the customary guards, and then ducked off to his father’s study. Thor could hear voices through the door. There were men inside, speaking with his father, so he lingered outside, hoping that this would be a brief sort of meeting, but as time dragged on Thor realized it wasn’t so. _At least he hasn’t gone to Loki,_ Thor thought as he flagged down a servant carrying a ledger who was heading inside.

“Can you tell my father I’m waiting for him?” Thor asked. “I don’t wish to interrupt.”

“Certainly,” came the reply, and the man with the ledger stepped in, leaving the door open. The voices fell silent for a minute, Thor oddly aware of his heartbeat in his ears, and then, when the silence was almost too tense for him to bear, Odin spoke.

“May we continue this meeting another time? I wish to have words with my son.”

Thor gave a sigh of partial relief. He knew the verbal scathing that lay ahead wouldn’t be pretty by any means, but it would be over quickly.

“Certainly, Allfather.”

The sounds of shuffling followed, and then two well-dressed men that Thor vaguely recognized (they were merchant advisers, if memory served) stepped out, giving Thor a quick half-bow as they departed.

He waited in the doorway for his father’s summon, only entering the study when he heard Odin call for him. His father, instead of sitting at his desk, was tending to one of his ravens, caressing the bird as it preened on its perch, his back kept to Thor. Silence stretched out between them, increasingly tense moments before Odin finally spoke without bothering to turn and look at him.   

“Where were you?” The words were flat, and Thor flinched inwardly. His father was angry, angrier than he thought he’d be.  

“Just…away for a few days,” he said casually, trying to diffuse the situation by making is seem as if it _were_ nothing. “I needed some time away from the palace, so Loki and I took a short trip.”

Again, silence.  And then, “Loki.”

Thor didn’t like the way his father breathed his brother’s name, hard and cold.

“And I assume you will try to tell me that this little stunt was your idea and not his?”   

“It was!” Thor insisted. “You know Loki’s hardly the type to leap at an opportunity to get mud on his boots.”   

“What I know,” Odin snapped, finally turning to glare at his son, “is that Loki is a _liar_. He deceives any and all around him, and you are a fool if you think he will spare you from his schemes.”

Thor returned his father’s glare with his own stony look. “I swear to you, Father, that was my idea, not Loki’s. It took a bit of convincing to get him to go with me, in fact.”

“Did it?” Odin drawled.  “A likely story.  Though I suppose I’ve better chance of getting the truth from you than from him.  Your brother’s talented tongue seems singularly suited to getting _himself_ out of trouble.”

Thor went stock still, frozen in place.  Surely…surely that had not meant what it sounded like.  His father wouldn’t…not _here_. Rage welled up in Thor.  His father never spoke out of turn.  If he said that, then….    

Willing himself not the utter any of the hateful things that swirled inside him was one of the hardest things Thor had ever done.  He had to hold his tongue here.  He simply _had_ to.  The repercussions of an outburst now would fall on Loki’s shoulders, not his.

Thor forced a smile. “Truly, Father, it was my idea.  I should have informed you.  I’m sorry.  It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right,” Odin muttered, turning back to his raven.  “From now on, you are not to leave the palace grounds without an escort.  Am I understood?”      
“Perfectly,” Thor said from between clenched teeth.  The loss of that small freedom wasn’t for his protection, he knew that.  It was a punishment, for him and Loki both, though it would still fall more heavily on his brother. “And Loki?

“What about him?”

“Do you intend to punish him as well?”   

Odin looked over his shoulder at Thor, a speculative gleam in his eye. “That remains to be seen. If I find he’s done _anything_ to harm you, well…he will be _dealt_ with then.”

Thor’s skin _crawled_ , but his forced himself to nod and mutter, “Thank you,” before giving a short bow, his breath catching in his throat.

“Now go. I expect to see you at dinner, along with your brother.”

“Certainly.” Thor backed up to the doorway once more. “Thank you, Father.”

There was a weary, disappointed sigh from inside the study, and Thor took it has his cue to leave. He walked briskly back into the hallway, satisfied with how matters were handled. The punishment was no more than a slap on the wrist, one that would be forgotten just as quickly as it had been issued, but Thor concerned himself with his father’s approval no longer. The fact that Loki had been spared any kind of punishment, and discussion, was the victory Thor had sought.

 

\---

Loki seemed in better spirits when Thor saw him next.

He was quiet throughout dinner, as he normally was, but his gaze seemed less troubled and anxious, and he engaged in some light chatter with Baldr and Thor, politely answering Frigga when she asked him about their trip. Thor watched him cautiously, mildly awed by Loki’s poise and composure.

 _Silvertongue,_ he thought. _If only they knew._

Loki excused himself early, giving Thor a slight nod before he departed, and Thor reasoned he would drop in to check on Loki later. He gave Loki a weak smile as his brother pulled the door open, and then finished his meal in relative silence until they were dismissed from the table.

He wandered the halls after dinner, trying to clear his head for a bit, and ended up in the back gardens, finding a small stone bench to sit on and enjoy the evening calls of the birds as the light faded out. He wasn’t alone for long, however, when the sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. A quick glance toward the palace proper revealed Sif, wearing a light tunic and leggings, her armor absent, along with her shield.

“I heard you were back,” she called to Thor as she approached, her steps brisk and light. “We’ve missed you the past few days.”

Thor smiled genuinely, and Sif returned it. He scooted over on the bench, and she sat beside him, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking them flush against her stomach. “Heimdall said you and Loki had only gone to the mountains, but Volstagg still wanted to ride out and make sure you were all right.”

He laughed. “We were fine,” he said, slowly and warmly, and Sif gave a shy grin. “But I appreciate the concern.”

Sif shrugged. “What were we supposed to do? You and Loki almost…fell off the face of the earth. Even _Hogun_ was worried.”

Thor laughed again. A silence fell between them for a moment, a breeze gently sweeping through the gardens.

“Why did you go?” Sif asked, staring down at her own hands. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, glancing at Thor from the side. “I mean, is everything all right? You’ve been…acting differently lately.”

Thor was taken aback by the question. “I…yes, everything’s fine.”

“Are you certain, Thor?” Sif said. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand, but please be honest with me.”

Thor understood his concern. His behavior was abnormal as of late, and Sif had legitimate reasons to be worried. She was his friend, and his comrade; it was only natural that she should ask what was troubling him. He could hardly blame her for it.

“Nothing’s wrong, Sif,” Thor reassured her. “Loki’s just been a bit…stressed as of late, and I thought taking him away might do him some good.”

She nodded. “Is he feeling any better?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Good.” She sat back, folding her arms against her stomach once more. “He’s a good person; he doesn’t deserve all the scorn people put on him.”

“Pardon?” Thor said. Surely she wasn’t talking about Loki? How could Sif speak highly of his brother, after what he’d done to her? After he had shorn off her beautiful golden locks and then defaulted on his promise to restore them?

Sif looked surprised for a minute, and then sheepish. “Your brother,” she clarified. “Loki.”

“Oh.” Thor tilted his head and said nothing further.

She stared down at her knees. “I…I meant no offense—”

Thor raised a brow. “For what? For saying my brother is a good person?” She winced slightly. “You said nothing wrong.”

She looped a strand of dark hair that had come loose from her ponytail back behind her ear. “I don’t understand why the others judge him so harshly, is all. He’s a fine sorcerer, and so very _clever,_ yet all they care about is the fact that he doesn’t swing a sword.”

“You sympathize with him.”

“Yes,” she continued. “I know what it’s like to be doubted and judged as such. Loki bears so much ridicule simply for what he _is_ that it’s horrifying.” She frowned. “Sometimes I fear he must find us all monsters.”

“I don’t think he does,” Thor offered.

She snorted in laughter. “Of course he doesn’t think anything bad of _you,_ Thor. You’re his brother and he _idolizes_ you”

Thor gave a weaker smile. “I’m not without my faults, Sif, you know that.”

She flicked him in the shoulder. “I certainly do. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for that time in Svartfalheim.”

“You enjoyed that fight,” Thor said, and she gave a sheepish grin in response. “Don’t deny it.”

Sif laughed for a moment, the sound fading into silence, and neither of them spoke for a long moment. “I’d best be leaving,” Sif offered, rising from the bench. “I want to get back before the light fades.”

“Would you like me to walk you back?” he asked as he stood.

She lightly hit his shoulder. “I’m no frail maiden. I’ll have none of your chivalry.” A pause. “But thank you.”

They stood facing each other for a minute, the silence awkward, Sif biting her lip almost expectantly. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course.”

“’Til tomorrow, then.” She backed away, giving a little wave before disappearing into the palace once more.

“Tomorrow,” he returned, raising a hand in farewell.

He stood alone in the gardens, feeling rather like a fool, until the last of the light started to slip over the horizon, Asgard’s golden hue now glossed with dark purples, blues and indigoes. Perhaps things were not as dire as he had assumed. Perhaps one day there would be someone that both he and Loki could confide in, someone to share their troubles and their burdens, someone to support them the way they now supported one another.

He trudged into the palace, deciding to check on his brother and then retire to his chambers and perhaps have an early night. The palace was quieter now, all of the visitors having left before dinner and most of the servants retiring to their quarters after the evening meal had been cleared away. The guards in the halls all gave Thor quick nods, dipping their heads in an informal sign of fealty.

Thor knocked on Loki’s door, getting a muffled, curious, “Come in,” in reply. He pushed the door open slowly, almost wearily, and shut it behind him.

“It’s just me, Brother,” he said, searching the room for Loki. His brother was standing at the bookshelves in the back of his room, reshelving a book, with another in his hand.

“Oh,” he said, softly, glancing at Thor over his shoulder. “Did you need something?”

“I just came to check in on you.”

Loki yawned, pushing the book back into its rightful spot. “I’m fine, Thor. No need to worry.”

“I know.” He approached Loki, who gave him a sleepy smile. “Did Father come to speak to you?”

“No,” Loki answered, pushing the book into its home. “Why?”

“I just wondered.”

Loki turned to face him, fingers idly skimming over the spines of the books in their row. “Mother came by, but that was it.” He paused briefly, eyes playing over Thor’s face. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Thor said, shaking his head. “I was just making certain.”

“Oh.” Loki folded his hands in front of him. He still seemed withdrawn and quiet, a consequence that Thor was certain stemmed from his return to the palace. He knew that, if given time, Loki would return to himself, but it was still disheartening to see him so withdrawn and meek.

Thor took a deep breath and stepped backwards. “Good night, then, Brother,” he said, dipping his head in Loki’s direction before turning to the door.

“Thor, wait,” Loki called, just as Thor was reaching for the handle.

“Yes?”

Loki knit his hands together before dropping them limply to his sides. “Can I…? Would you mind terribly if I…if I slept in your room tonight?”

“Not at all.” It was a reasonable request, most certainly, and Thor saw no reason to deny him. “I can make up a cot for you—”

“Can’t we just share your bed?” Loki asked, stepping forward, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “It’s large enough, certainly, and it would save you the trouble of having to fetch those extra blankets….”

Thor inhaled sharply. He didn’t mind sharing his chambers with Loki, but the thought of having his brother so _close_ like that,especially considering some of his previous actions, made Thor uncomfortable. He made an effort to mask it, fearing that any kind of rejection now might push his brother into another bout of spiraling depression.

“I…suppose we can,” he said after a long moment. The corners of Loki’s mouth turned up in the start of a smile. Thor suddenly felt like Loki was playing him, was playing at something much, much larger than Thor realized, and the thought of being used and manipulated so easily lit a small flame of anger deep within him.

But he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. This was _Loki,_ the brother who adored him—why would he feel the need to manipulate Thor? _He wouldn’t,_ Thor reasoned. Loki knew Thor would do whatever he could within his power to help his brother, so there was no sense in trying to pull the wool over his eyes.

He chased such thoughts from his mind, at least until Loki came to him later that night, peeling back the covers and slipping into bed with Thor, drawing close and laying his head on Thor’s shoulder, exactly…

…exactly the way a lover might.

 

\---

Thor slept little that night, bogged down with confused thoughts of the overly-affectionate brother sleeping upon him. He was unsure if his continued allowance of such acts was more helpful or harmful to Loki’s state, and while he had originally decided to indulge his brother’s wants, Thor was beginning to think that it was time to set some boundaries.

He rose at dawn, ever so gently shrugging Loki off and leaving him to wake in Thor’s bed. His brother stirred, but his eyes never opened, still caught in the web of sleep, his face slack and peaceful. Loki sighed and rolled over as Thor left the bed, and Thor hesitated, waiting until Loki had stilled once more before creeping away from the bed.

As quietly as he could, Thor washed and dressed, and then snuck out the door. He debated leaving a note for his brother, but Loki wasn’t unreasonable; he would know Thor had gone to eat and start his day. Loki, unlike Thor, never held his brother accountable for his whereabouts. The halls were still quiet, most of the servants just starting their tasks, but Thor could smell the warm, yeasty scent of bread baking, which meant that the kitchen was staffed.

Rather than wait for the rest of his family to break their fast, Thor merely stood outside the kitchens until one of the cooks spotted him and ushered him in, clearly nervous and anticipating the worst. When Thor explained that he just wanted something small for breakfast, he found rolls and tiny jars of jams shoved eagerly at him, along with fruits and salted meats, but he only took a small sampling before nodding in thanks and departing.

After eating, he holed up in the armory, cutting away the leather handle of the practice sword he favored, winding a new, fresh, soft leather replacement around the wooden post when the old one had been cut away. Despite his attempts at sabotaging his performance with the Einherjar, Thor still had a sense of pride, and looking shabby while getting beaten wasn’t something he was going to resign himself to.

Later, he indulged in a bit of sparring that day, Hogun, Sif, and Volstagg turning up with warm greetings and a bout of friendly blows. They played some _tablut_ after, Sif running into the palace to retrieve a decidedly more sociable Loki, and all in all the afternoon was a pleasant one.

Thor retired to his chambers alone after dinner, hoping that he could spend the rest of the evening that way. He set to organizing some of the things he had left strewn haphazardly on his shelves after his frantic unpacking yesterday, wishing that he were more orderly by nature.

He assumed that Loki would again come by tonight and ask to spend the night, and Thor knew he didn’t have the heart yet to turn him away, no matter how uncomfortable it made _him_ feel. _You must, and the sooner the better,_ he thought, his conscience nagging at him, reminding him that letting this problem fester would hurt both of them more in the long run.

But perhaps Loki was not as…devious as Thor imagined. Maybe his brother was merely seeking comforts that had been denied to him in childhood, a “reliving” of sorts, and Thor was putting entirely too much thought into this whole matter. It was Loki; no matter how smart Thor felt he was, he would never be able to understand just what went on in his brother’s head.

And so, when Loki did not come this night, Thor dismissed such thoughts as he curled up into bed. He slept deeply, waking the next morning well rested and dragging himself from bed after dawn. The rest of the day passed in peaceful monotony, Thor opting out of sparring, instead going riding for most of the morning, being wary to never leave the palace grounds.

By the time he returned his horse in the early afternoon, he was relaxed, a bit too tired to pursue any vigorous afternoon activities. Instead, he lounged about with his friends, engaging in light conversation. They amused themselves until the evening, parting ways before dinner, something Thor regretted, as due to the unforeseen absence of both Loki and Baldr, he was forced to dine alone with his parents.

His stomach roiling, Thor ate little, pushing the food around his plate while his mother peppered him with questions. He nearly bolted when dismissed, barely able to contain his utter disdain for them and fighting the urge to dash away, settling instead for a brisk, determined walk. Frigga had explained that Loki had felt ill when summoned, preferring to dine in his room—the gesture was not uncommon for his brother, and Thor assumed that Loki couldn’t be too ill, otherwise he would have been brought to the healers.

And, indeed, when he pushed open the doors to his room, Loki was there, musing over the few books Thor had on his shelf. “I heard you were feeling unwell,” Thor stated. “I take it you’re feeling better?”

Loki laughed softly. “I wasn’t ill, I just didn’t want to sit down to dinner.” He glanced over at Thor. “Were you all alone with the two of them?”

“Unfortunately.”

Loki frowned.

“Don’t worry about it,” Thor said. “I managed well enough.”

The frown was wiped from Loki’s face as he lightly tapped one of the books on Thor’s shelf. He kept his focus on the shelf as Thor walked over, standing at his brother’s side, trying to see just what Loki was so interested in.

“And how was your day, Brother?”

There was a moment’s pause as Loki titled his head from side to side appreciatively. “It was just like any other day, I suppose,” he confessed. “But I can’t complain. It certainly could have been worse.”

“That’s good to hear,” Thor said, eyeing the same book Loki had been touching earlier. If there was some fascination to be had with it, Thor didn’t understand; it was just a simple book of epic poetry that Thor had kept, full of tales that any Aesir knew.

Loki’s eyes climbed higher on Thor’s shelves, until he found the spot where the damaged Magni still sat, leaning to his side, further emphasizing his missing arm. Deft, pale hands carefully reached for him, cradling him like a treasure as they picked up the wooden doll, and Loki lifted him off the shelf to bring him down for a closer look.

“I’m amazed you still have this,” Loki murmured, two slender fingers tracing the jagged edge of Magni’s broken arm.

Thor bit his lip, a spasm of guilt flashing through him, guilt at what he had done to the poor, innocent doll in a fit of anger, anger that he had had _no right_ to possess, and Thor wrung his hangs together, digging the nails of one hand into the back of the other.

“His little shield is gone,” Loki noted, a twinge of sadness dampening his voice. “I wonder what happened to it.”

Thor swallowed thickly. _I broke it off,_ he wanted to say. _I broke it, because I’m an idiot, a worthless fool who doesn’t deserve anything he has._ “It was my fault,” Thor said. “I broke it when I was…angry with you.” He stared at the floor, too full of self-loathing to handle Loki’s gaze upon him.

Whatever judgments his brother may have held, he voiced none of them, regarding Thor thoughtfully for a moment before returning his attentions to the doll. “Maybe he can be fixed,” he offered.

A heavy sigh from Loki broke the silence between them as he set the doll back on the shelf. Thor had backed away a step, arms clasped behind his back, head tilted down in shame, glancing up at Loki as his brother turned to face him. Loki’s expression wasn’t condescending or disapproving, and Thor squared his shoulders a bit and lifted his head.

Loki shifted from foot to foot, fiddling nervously with the ends of his sleeves. “Can I stay tonight?” he asked quietly.

Thor grit his teeth. Who was he to deny Loki, the brother he had so wronged? His brows furrowed together for a moment, mouth falling slightly agape before he answered.

“Yes, of course.”

 

\---

Thor ultimately regretted his decision.

Sleep came to him in fickle fits, and each time he woke, it was to find Loki lying curled against him, his head resting on Thor’s chest or shoulder, or an arm thrown around him. Thor had never typically been one for such affections, and he rarely let the maidens he took to bed stay the night; Loki’s continued presence was becoming both uncomfortable and unwanted.

He would talk to his brother about it in the morn, he reasoned. He would be gentle about it, offer to sleep in the same room as Loki, but not the same bed. It was too close, too intimate for Thor’s liking, and it was the wrong kind of affection to come from Loki.

When he woke with the dawn, Loki’s limbs were entangled with his, a leg coiled around Thor’s and an arm draped across his chest, Loki’s head a steady weight on Thor’s collarbone. As delicately as he could, Thor freed himself, peeling Loki’s arm from his chest to fold it neatly near his chin, sliding his leg out from under Loki’s, his brother sighing softly before curling slightly, lying on his stomach with his head facing Thor.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rising and padding about the room to fetch new clothes. His tunic was shucked for a clean one, along with new leather breeches, and then Thor reached for his doublet, trying to be as quiet as he could while doing the buckles.

It was a vain effort, however, for he heard Loki shift on the bed, and a glance over his shoulder revealed that his brother was awake, sitting up, the covers still draped in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Thor said. “Did I wake you?”

“It’s no matter,” Loki said, with a sleepy yawn. He started to rub the sleep from his eyes as Thor turned back around, finishing the fastenings on his doublet. With that task finished, he reached for his gauntlets, discarded carelessly on a dresser.

“Thor,” Loki asked, and Thor could hear him twisting the covers in his hand, “can I pleasure you?”

Thor froze, the blood turning cold in his veins. His whole body tensed, his stomach knotting up as he attempted to comprehend what his brother had just requested of him. “W-what?”

“Can I….” Loki paused to lick his lips. “Can I pleasure you?”

Thor was vaguely aware that he was panting, shallow breaths coming in rapid succession as he fought the urge to vomit. “Pleasure me?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Loki, what—” Thor couldn’t even begin to articulate the thoughts running through his head. All he felt was ill, violently and suddenly ill, his whole world turned upside-down.

Loki leaned forward, a nervous look in his eyes. “You can have my hands, Thor, or my mouth, or we could even—”

“Loki—”

“I’m very good, Thor, I’ve had practice—”

“ _Loki,_ ” Thor said, voice strangled. He was lightheaded, suddenly stumbling to his table to brace himself.

Loki coughed, the sound small in the shocked silence of the room. “Please, Thor,” he begged.

Thor slumped against his table, twisting his body to face Loki. “That’s why you keep sleeping in my bed,” he whispered. “Why you wouldn’t be my blood brother. You….” A dizzy spell hit him, his vision swimming, and he shut his eyes, skin crawling.

“Loki,” he began, trying to control his unsteady breathing, “I am your _brother._ Why would you ever want such a thing?”

Loki’s expression was hurt now, his features twisting in an utterly pitiable mask. “B-Because I…I care for you, Thor, and—”

“Do you care for me as one might care for a lover?”

“Thor, I—” Loki hung his head, staring at his hands.

“ _Do you?_ ”

“Yes.” Loki looked up, tears in his eyes. “You’re the…the only one I _want_ to do that for.” Thor flinched, keeping his eyes locked on Loki the whole time. “And I…I thought that you might, too, after what we’d done, and after how you treated me, letting me sleep in your bed, and….”

“I did those things because I was trying to _help_ you, not…not convince you I wanted you as a lover!”

“You never objected, Thor, what was I supposed to think—”

“That I was your _brother!_ ” he roared. “I thought that was what you _needed!_ Some comfort, someone to be near! I didn’t…. If I had known _that_ was your intent, I never would have—” Thor curled in on himself, hiding his face in his palms, his fingers knotting in his hear and tearing at the locks. He was on the verge of sobbing, tears in his eyes as well, the air stilled in his lungs, and each breath felt like he were wrenching his soul from his very being.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t….” He tried to hastily wipe some of the tears from his eyes. “Why me?”

Loki fidgeted, avoiding Thor’s eye contact. “Why _not_ you? You…you were always the favored one, the golden, radiant, perfect son, the one who was truly fit to be a king. Why _shouldn’t_ I want something like that?”

“Loki….”

“A-A-And because Father never…never did those _things_ to you, and I always thought _that_ was why _,_ because you were s-so strong and brave, and so I just wanted to be like you, because I thought that if I were, that maybe he wouldn’t…wouldn’t do those things to _me._ ” Loki looked up, eyes and expression manic, frantically searching Thor’s face for a reaction, his eyes red, mouth open, nostrils flared.

A terrible sense of dread filled Thor, sank into his bones and lingered there, filling every void and nook and crevice in his being. “But he…he _hurt_ you,” Thor said, unable to comprehend part of what Loki had spelled out. “Why would you want to _be_ with me after what he did to you?”

Loki dug his nails harder into his flesh, and Thor winced at the sight. “Because…because when he used to take me, it meant that at least _one_ person wanted me.”

Thor felt as though he had been stabbed. “What?” he asked, the word coming out almost as just a gasp.

Loki looked up at him, confused and hurt and angry, the three emotions blending together, blending into an expression that tore at Thor’s heart. “Mother never bothered much with me. You grew up and moved on with your new friends. And then even he stopped wanting me.” Loki’s voice was wavering dangerously, and Thor feared he would break down into sobs again. “I was just…just _left_ with this, with _nothing_. I just wanted to _feel_ again. Only lately have I ever…felt truly _wanted_ for more more…more than….” His throat closed up around the words. “And now…now you’ll move on, too, and then I’ll be alone again—”

“You will _never_ be alone,” Thor whispered. “I will always be here for you, as a brother. But what you want between us, what we had between us that night, that was a _mistake,_ Loki, one we should not repeat.”

“A mistake,” Loki repeated bitterly. “You wanted me that night,” he continued, his voice small and broken. “And you wanted to help me so badly that you let me—”

“Loki,” Thor said, trying to distract his brother, if even only for a moment. “Brother—”

“We’re not brothers!” he screamed, in a fit of rage, shrill and desperate. He slammed his fists into his own thighs, and Thor stood stock-still, unsure of what to do. “We never _were!_ And _you know this!”_ He emphasized each of the last three words separately, each syllable hitting Thor like a sword strike.

They both froze for a long second, Loki panting like a madman, tears running freely down his face, Thor standing dazed and confused, unable to move or speak or even think. Loki’s eyes skimmed over Thor’s face, trying to find a reaction, a response of any kind, but they were met with a blank gaze, for Thor did not even know _what_ to feelat this point.

Thor’s legs gave way unexpectedly, his body crumpling to the floor, unable to function any longer. Loki’s sobs reached his ears, but he couldn’t find the energy, the will, the strength to react, to go and comfort his brother. He was ugly and twisted inside, a milieu of emotions all fighting for dominance, destroying his ability to think in their fruitless battle. Prior to now, he had understood Loki’s reasons for wanting to end his life, but he had never suspected that he would feel the same. But at this very instant, Thor wished he could simply end, simply cease to _be_ , gone from his family, from this palace, from Asgard and everything.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” he said, hollowly, staring blankly at the far wall. “I’m sorry for everything. For every hint I unknowingly gave you, for every action I reciprocated.” He swallowed, his throat tight and hot, a lump welling up in the center of it. He fisted his hands in his hair once more.

“Thor?” Loki asked after a long moment.

“Yes?”

“Why…why _did_ you…that night…?”

Thor cleared his throat. “Because I’m an awful person, Loki. Because I was drunk, because I’ve had forays with men, because I _take_ …because I…I am a great fool who does not deserve what he has _._ ” His breathing was ragged and shallow, tears running unhindered down his cheeks, hot little trails of shame and self-hatred laying unabashed on his face.

Every wrong he had committed came back to haunt him. He had _lain_ with his brother as a _lover._ He had refused to believe him about his past, had driven him to the point of suicide. His efforts to help had been horridly misguided, harming rather than aiding, and Thor’s latest affections had been misconstrued to give Loki the hope that they might be lovers.

The thoughts circled in his mind like wolves, nipping and biting and slashing at him, relentless in their pursuits, no matter how hard Thor tried to _fight_ to keep them away. Self-loathing and self-hatred burst forth, culminating in a choked, awkward sob, and the rest of the pack closed in, anger and anguish lashing at him.

And if _he_ were feeling these things, he knew Loki must be feeling them tenfold, that the sorrow and guilt and confusion must be eating him alive.

He looked over at Loki, who was crying silently on the bed, his shoulders hunched, mouth covered by his sleeve. Occasionally he would suck in a rapid breath, only to let it out once more in soundless shudders, his eyes kept tightly closed, free hand gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

Loki’s eyes snapped up at him when Thor shifted, bringing about another sorrowful convulsion before Loki turned his head away. In his eyes there had been pleading, pleading for something Thor could not articulate, be it sexual or platonic or perhaps more basic, but _need_ and _want_ had so clearly been there.

“I…I need some time to think, Loki,” Thor said hollowly, watching Loki wince. “Can you…can you give me that? Just a few hours?”

 _After everything I’ve given you, Brother, I’m only asking for some time._

There was no response from Loki, just some shivering and a sharp inhale from behind the sleeve.

“Please?”

At last, a hint of a nod, one that matured into a full-fledged gesture in seconds. It was a promise, one that Thor was fully aware Loki was under no obligation to _keep_ , and fear was the next emotion to plague him, fear that he, with a refusal, would undo his brother entirely.

“Promise me, Loki.”

Loki shook his head no this time, and Thor supposed that was fair; Loki had told him in the past that he could never make such a promise. But it only intensified how very afraid and alone Thor felt, how he teetered on this knife’s edge that was Loki’s life, fearful that he would inadvertently drag him down, would cut and torture him on the narrow blade that he walked upon.

There was a flash of movement as Loki rose from the bed, bounding to the door like a stag, and he was on the other side of it before Thor could even react. Instead he stared helplessly at the door, left ajar, wondering if he should chase after his brother or if that would only make things worse.

Bile filled his throat, and Thor stumbled to his bath chamber, vomiting in the sink before collapsing on the floor, the taste in his mouth sour and vile. He curled up like a child, a shivering wreck, and simply let his thoughts consume him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, I update! I'm really really sorry this took me so long; just kept getting pushed on the backburner due to schoolwork, etc. 
> 
> Much love again to Moiraine for betaing this for me. And thank you to all of my fans and commenters!!!
> 
> Before I forget: Skuld is the norn in charge of the future.

Loki had always been swift of foot.

His lean form lent itself to speed, everything from casual jogs and determined sprints, to flat out running. It had been one area where he excelled over the others in Asgard. He lacked bulk, which was difficult to move; Thor had never been as fast or as swift as Loki, for his frame required too much inertia to move.

For a moment, he was no longer a grown man running back to his room with tears drying on his face, but a boy, fleeing demons he could not fight. _His rhythm never falters, left, right, left, right, one pale foot after another, stark white on black marble as he runs, fear, terrible, punishing, awful fear fueling each step, propelling him forward, despite the ache in his heels, despite the burning in his lungs, despite the sickness in his stomach—_  

He had spent so much of his life running, so much of it scampering down these halls and through these gardens, first in joy and curiosity, and then later in terror and sorrow. The cool feel of the marble was familiar on his feet, the way he rounded corners second nature, _just a few more and he would be back at his room, safe from prying eyes, safe from questions he cannot answer and accusations he cannot defend, but never, never safe from what he truly fears, for that monster has never let a locked door stop him._

Loki slammed the doors shut behind him, pressing his back to them for a long moment. He wished he could do the same to his thoughts, his emotions, simply bar them from his mind, sealing them off with something so wonderfully tangible as a door. Shaking hands fumbled with the lock, managing to turn it by throwing his weight onto it, and then Loki sank down against the doors, curling up in a ball on the floor, knees drawn tightly to his chest, with his thighs pressing against his ribs and his knees at his shoulders.

He was humiliated, and angry, and confused and hurt and above all, _afraid._ He was so, so afraid that Thor would never speak to him again, that he had gone and ruined the one good relationship in his life, burned a bridge he had only been trying to cross. _But that’s not like Thor,_ he told himself, tears prickling at the back of his eyes. _Especially not now._

It didn’t matter. Thor had rejected him, had looked at him with horror and revulsion and shock, the way he would some creature dredged up from the depths. Loki laughed cynically to himself. Why _shouldn’t_ Thor look at him in such a fashion?

Wasn’t that what Loki _was_?

“ _Why?_ ”

He shut his eyes. He wasn’t there, wasn’t trapped down in the Vault, wasn’t a child any longer.

“ _Because of_ what _you are._ ”

 _Broken,_ he thought. _That’s what I am. Broken._

The admission brought tears to his eyes once more, but Loki steeled himself—he wouldn’t cry over it. It wasn’t worth crying over. He was broken, broken beyond repair, twisted and wrong and malformed, as his behavior toward Thor proved. He had seduced his brother, and now offered to pleasure him, his own sibling—

—but they had never _been_ siblings in Loki’s eyes, not for _years,_ not when it had _mattered,_ when Loki was hurt and alone and had turned to Thor, to his resplendent golden glory and seen everything he wanted to be. Was it so wrong to love Thor then? Was it so wrong to feel the way he felt?

Was there even an answer to such a question?

Loki let his head hit the doors with a soft _thunk,_ his eyes shut, the last few tears receding, only one slipping down the side of his face. He wasn’t worth saving, worth fixing—Thor had been wrong all along. He had been broken in this very room, held down and _raped_ as a child. Loki had been an interesting little bauble, a glass trinket, something pretty and amusing for a short time, and now smashed to pieces, lying pulverized on a hard, unforgiving floor. And nothing Thor could do, nothing _anyone_ could do, would help him.

No one could put him back together. He wasn’t worth it. Trinkets could be replaced.

He opened his eyes, his vision bleary, but almost immediately his gaze settled on the balcony, on the very spot where he had tried to end himself. He fixated on it, unsure of what to feel, his mind blissfully silent and empty, the turmoil of his thoughts having finally ceased, at least temporarily.

 _Broken,_ he thought. _No one will care if a broken bauble is tossed away._

_Thor would._

Loki hunched forward, pressing his forehead to his knees.

 _Thor would you remember how he fought for you how he pinned you under Mjolnir he would do anything to keep you he_ loves _you—_

_Why?_

_“Because of_ what _you are.”_

_No Thor doesn’t see me like that he sees me as a brother—_

_He rejected you that look in his eyes hatred abhorrence loathing what you are_ what _you are—_

Loki wanted to scream, wanted to strike something, wanted to get these churning, twisting thoughts from his mind, wanted it all to just _stop,_ to be revealed as some gross, horrific fantasy that he’d been trapped in for years, and he could _wake up_ and be a normal little boy again, one who was untainted by this blackness. One fist hit the ground in a childish outburst, his knuckles crying out in protest and shock, the pain distracting him for only a brief, fleeting second.

His other fist dug into his knee, cutting tiny crescents into his flesh through the fabric of his pants. It seemed best to focus on that, to occupy his mind with the simple thought of _pain_ rather than let these thoughts in, let them tear him asunder as helplessly struggled. He didn’t want to feel anymore, didn’t want to have to think and confront things around him, didn’t want to have to _function_ any longer. There were men who came back scarred from the horrors of battle unable to tend or care for themselves, a dazed, dead look permanently in their eyes; their brothers and comrades took care of them until they either were well again or expired. Loki knew that if he ended up like that, that Thor would care for him as well.

Loki had done this to himself, he realized. He had lured himself into a false sense of security, into believing that things could _improve,_ that he could become _well_ again, that with the help of those around him he could regain control over his life and his fear. It was a trick, a foul ruse, one his mind had constructed without his knowing, only to tear it down and break Loki a bit more.

He swayed slightly from side to side, still caught reflecting on what a sham his life had been, what a horrid trap he had led himself into. Time felt strange and surreal, as if he could blink and be a young boy again, lying in his bed, before all of this had begun, as if this were just some long, tragic fantasy constructed in his dreams.

But he wouldn’t wake up. Or perhaps he finally had, woken up to the fact that this reality was the only one he would ever know.

\---

It took Thor a long time to sort himself out.

When he could think again, he rose, leaning heavily on the counters for support. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his reflection for a long time, too afraid to see the monster he would find there, but eventually he found the willpower to bring his gaze upward long enough to see himself. His eyes were red-rimmed, wide, scared, his hair disheveled and tangled, his clothes rumpled and wrinkled. In his bath chamber, isolated from the rest of the palace, Thor had no idea how long he had lain there; it could have been just a few minutes or perhaps hours.

He washed his face, cleaned the traces of bile from his skin and beard and rinsed the sour taste from his mouth, combing his hair back with his fingers when he had finished. He looked a little better—not perfect but now passable.

Taking a step back from the mirror, he smoothed out his clothes, adjusting his doublet before he left the bath chamber. Thor needed to go and check on his brother, and while the odds were that no one of importance would see him in the palace today, but Thor didn’t think it was a good idea to show up in Loki’s room looking like a vagabond.

The thought of his brother made Thor still. Loki had promised him, hadn’t he? He had. Loki would keep his word. He would grant Thor the hours he had needed. But Thor couldn’t deny the fear creeping back into his bones, snaking up him like ivy on a tree. _Heimdall did not summon you,_ Thor reasoned, _so Loki must be fine_. There was still an undeniable urge to sprint to his brother’s room to make sure, but Thor knew that would be in poor taste.

So instead of running, he walked with haste, as fast as seemed natural to anyone who passed him, and broke into tiny fits of jogging when no servants or guards were around. When he stood before Loki’s doors, there were no hesitant knocks, no uncertain waiting outside for Loki to grant him entry. Rather, he pushed the doors open with fluid urgency, stepping inside with purpose rather than with panic.

To Thor’s shock, his brother was seated at his desk with his back towards Thor, idly leafing through a musty book, with an inkpot nearby. The quill he held in his hands, absentmindedly toying with it, concentrating on his work—he hadn’t even bothered to look up when Thor entered the room.

“Loki?”

His brother stiffened, setting the quill down and twisting to look at Thor. “Yes?”

Now Thor felt like a fool. He had been so certain that Loki would still be distressed, still feel awful and confused the way Thor felt, but now Loki was so calm and composed. Thor’s hands knotted together behind his back, trying to hide his confusion and uncertainty. “I simply came to see you after what…transpired earlier.”

“Oh.” Loki turned further, resting his arm on the back of the chair. His face was impassive, but when Thor looked at his eyes he caught a glimpse of sadness.

“I’m sorry.”

Loki’s fingers traced the edge of the chair’s back. “Don’t be sorry, Thor. It was I who erred.”

Thor shook his head, but Loki held up his hand, a sign that he had more to say. “I always hoped that you would love me the way I loved you. Remember when…” he began, then turned away and coughed, clearing his throat, taking a moment to attempt to compose himself. “Remember when you offered me the chance to leave? When you told me I could just take my horse and go, and you wouldn’t tell anyone I’d gone?”

“Y-Yes.”

He gave a tired laugh. “I didn’t go because…because if I were to leave, I wanted to do it with you at my side. I…for a great many years, I clung to the fantasy that one day we would be lovers and not merely… _siblings._ ” He said the word with a certain disdain, perhaps for its near misuse when applied to them, perhaps for a hatred of that status, likely both. “I dreamed that we would run away, that you would take me away from all of these things, take me where I couldn’t be hurt anymore, and that you would love me, Thor.”

His voice was hollow, as if he couldn’t believe that he’d ever hoped for those things, as if he were reading a story off of a piece of parchment and not speaking of his own life. He paused mournfully. “But I see now that…we couldn’t be _like_ that, because no matter how much you love me,” the break in his voice this time was sharp, as he sucked in a quick breath, “you can’t love me the way I want you to.”

Thor opened his mouth, not to protest, but to simply say _something,_ anything to offer some comfort. Loki eyed him, and he fell silent, deciding to let his brother finish speaking.

“I can’t…however disappointed I am, Thor, I can’t blame you for it. To you, we are brothers, we are family, and and that what I want must seem so very strange and wrong to you. I’m sorry for the way I feel, Thor. I’m sorry for what I’ve asked you. I’m sorry for the way you must feel about me now.” His gaze fell to the floor, face once more a mask.

Thor licked his lips but said nothing. He couldn’t begrudge Loki for the way he felt. He hadn’t been through the same strife and hardships, hadn’t needed a lifeline to cling to and found none—what right did he have to judge his brother for the way he felt? Certainly it made him uncomfortable, but perhaps Loki’s feelings would change over time. Perhaps he would find someone who could love him the way he wanted to be, the way he deserved, who could treasure and cherish him in a way that Thor was unable to.

“I feel I have a brother,” Thor said, “who is strong despite the horrible grievances committed against him. Who is brave and nigh fearless. Who deserves far better than what he has received in life. You are never to blame for the way you feel about this, Loki. I don’t hold that against you, not at all.” His brother’s head lifted, eyes seeking out Thor’s. “Do you believe me?”

Loki was still for a long moment. Eventually, he dipped his head, the gesture maturing into a nod, but Thor could still see the weariness spread across his face, the lines at the corners of his mouth and the circles under his eyes, a man who had just lost a long, long war through defeat at one last, crucial battle. He supposed this would be a defeat that Loki would take a long time to adjust to. All of his hopes for his future were now rendered invalid by Thor’s decision.

“Do you feel all right?”

This time the nod was much sooner. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you certain?”

Loki lifted his head again and smiled weakly. “Yes.” He rose from his chair, shutting the book and picking it up, tucking it to his chest as he started to walk to the other side of the room, heading toward the shelves where he must have taken it from. As he passed Thor, however, Thor grabbed his arm by the sleeve, and they stood deadlocked for a moment, each staring at the other, Loki clutching his book tightly and Thor keeping his grip on Loki’s upper arm.

He could see the fear in Loki’s eyes, not of Thor, but of the future, and then Loki’s head leaned forward, breaking their eye contact. Thor tentatively put his arms around him, realizing just how small and frail Loki felt compared to him. His brother was tough—not that anyone every truly saw that, and he wished for the first time that Loki’s true strength was reflected in his frame.  Maybe if it had been, none of this would have happened. 

Loki’s arms shifted against his chest, and the loud _thud_ as Loki dropped the book he had been holding made Thor nearly flinch from shock. But Loki’s arms carefully unfolded, wrapping around Thor, his face half-buried in Thor’s neck, and he sighed deeply, his breath warm on Thor’s skin. “I’m broken, Thor,” he murmured sadly.

Thor’s breath stuttered. “No, Loki Not broken—hurt. And you need to heal.” It was an order, not a request, and Thor felt no guilt about giving it. A broken Loki could not be fixed. He would be like a broken weapon or tool, something to be cast aside. That was _not_ what his brother was. But a hurt Loki could heal, could mend, could one day smile again without pain behind his eyes.

Thor squeezed him a bit tighter. He hadn’t come this far to lose the fight now, to lose his brother when he had held him so close.

\---

Thor thought the issue was settled.

He was ready—more than ready, eager, if he were to be honest—for things to regain a sense of normalcy. With all of the tension now aired out between them, Thor assumed that they could being working toward a functional relationship, that now Loki was aware that Thor was his brother and nothing more, perhaps he would be able to forget ideas of romance for a time. Thor cared for his brother, and he only wanted what would make Loki happy, but he knew his brother was not ready for such intimacy and sexuality with someone else.

Perhaps someday, but not now.

Loki was withdrawn, but not mournful. He was quiet, never speaking out of turn or when he wasn’t acknowledged, but responsive when engaged. Despite being reserved, he wasn’t outwardly depressed; there wasn’t anything overtly sorrowful to his eyes or words. He just seemed tired, worn out and exhausted, which Thor felt was apropos.

He worried for Loki regardless. When Loki shut him out of his thoughts was when Thor feared the most—it was that dreadful lack of knowledge that made him feel helpless and useless. Each time his brother quietly departed their social functions early, or left with their friends to avoid being alone with Thor, he felt a little pang of guilt twist in him.

He knew what he’d told Loki wasn’t easy for his brother to handle. Thor didn’t know how to remedy this. Short of simply giving in to Loki’s request, he had no idea how to reassure his brother that he wasn’t ill, that he wasn’t depraved for desiring such things, because deep down Thor knew how wrong Loki’s desires were. He couldn’t be blamed for having them—the circumstances of his upbringing had a corrosive effect on Loki’s views, and Thor fully realized that, but it didn’t ease or lessen the fact that his brother was sexually attracted to him.

And so Thor left Loki to his own devices. He monitored him, but never pressed his brother, assuming that Loki needed this space to change his thinking, that the distance Loki put between them was for his own benefit. He never objected when Loki refused Thor’s company, instead giving his brother a sad smile and backing out of the room or turning on his heel, but the acceptance of this separation was just a front, a flimsy mask that Thor knew Loki saw through.

But despite Loki’s awareness of Thor’s discomfort at this recent development, he didn’t change his behavior to accommodate for it. Thor understood that it was horridly selfish to think that he should; so long as Loki’s actions didn’t harm himself or anyone around him, Thor had no right or reason to ask him to alter them. The sudden gulf between them still bothered him and made him miss the old days, before he had known about Loki’s past, about his father, about all of the dark secrets his family had covered up. He yearned for the days when Loki was his brother and nothing more, when there was no talk of incest between them, no talk of love that went beyond that of brotherhood.

But that past, that life, was gone, would never return, and Thor had to live with that.

He supposed he had to simply accept this now, accept that Loki couldn’t handle being around him, and the only thing he could do about it was grant his brother the space he desired and hope that one day they could be close again. Thor had others in his life, and now Loki did as well, friends that they could depend on for a social outlet, although none of them were suitable for the confidences they had shared between them.

Mostly, Thor realized he was _alone._ He hadn’t truly understood how much of a crutch Loki had become in his life, how much he depended on Loki’s support. From those first days when he began to learn the truth up until now, they could confide mutually in one another, could help share the other’s burdens and these awful secrets. But now, Thor was left with no one to talk to, and no one to listen to. As uncomfortable as it had made him at times, Thor liked to listen to Loki, liked to be there for him. Thor had felt needed and useful, and he was suddenly unneeded in Loki’s life. Even when his brother had just used him as a verbal target, Thor had still felt some sort of purpose.

Now, without his brother, without his steadfast companion, Thor suddenly felt estranged from everyone else. His friends felt oddly immature, the activities they had used to engage in so childlike to Thor. Gone were the days when he had enjoyed drinking and carousing and forgetting his troubles; now such problems lingered too close to the surface for Thor to ever truly forget them.

But he did his best to. He began rejoining his group for late-night feasting and merrymaking, going on hunting trips with his companions (thankfully, Loki came along frequently, which helped soothe Thor’s worries), and for the first time in months, Thor took a maiden to his bed. All of it felt hollow, a shallow fix to a much deeper problem, but Thor supposed that time was the only cure for that ill.

And for a time, it seemed as though everything were improving. Thor felt less stressed, less taxed, and he enjoyed his activities more. Loki, although distant, seemed relatively stable; Thor often saw him smile or laugh with their companions.

Yet Loki, even weeks later, hadn’t made any move to restore their relationship. He wasn’t cold to Thor when he spoke to him, but he was curt, answering whatever questions Thor would ask briskly, and never inquiring about anything himself. In a way, Thor was hurt that Loki apparently cared so little for his life, for what was going on in Thor’s world, but he told himself that Loki had other more pressing matters to worry over.

Tonight his brother was brooding over a cup of wine, listening as Hogun carefully recounted tales from his homeland. Hogun rarely spoke, and to have him tell tales of such a personal nature was exceedingly rare. And so the rest of the table stared intently, most red-faced and slightly drunk from the night’s cavorting, but rapt nonetheless.

When Sif and the others made to depart, Loki stood with them, but Thor reached across the table, latching his fingers on to the edge of Loki’s sleeve. “Stay?” he asked. “Just for a bit?”

“Thor, I really must be getting to bed—”

“Please?”

Loki looked over his shoulder, at the group making their way to the door, Sif waiting in the doorway, tilting her head in patient curiosity. “I really mustn’t…”

“Why not?” Thor asked, not accusingly, but with a sense of pleading in his voice. “I desire five minutes of conversation with my brother; can I not have that?”

Slowly, almost ashamedly, Loki’s gaze drifted back to Thor, afraid to meet his eyes for long seconds. Hesitantly, he waved the group on, sitting down at the table across from Thor as Thor released his sleeve. “Yes?” he said, attention focused on smoothing his sleeve and folding his hands in his lap.

“I haven’t had a serious conversation with you in weeks, let alone had you in confidence,” Thor said, resting his elbows on the table and hunching over. “I…have I done something to anger you?”

“No.”

“Then why do you avoid me?” he pressed, accusation leaking into his tone. “Why are you so short with me? Do you no longer desire my company at all?”

Loki was silent, staring down at his hands, and didn’t respond for several long moments, Eventually Thor hung his head, sighed, and started to rise.

“Thor, wait,” Loki said, and Thor stopped, Loki tilting his head up to meet Thor’s gaze. “I…I do want to see you.”

Thor sat back down, Loki biting his lip before continuing, shakily setting his hands out on the table. “I want to spend time with you. But I…every time I see you, I think of how you must find me depraved for what I’ve asked of you, of how I feel for you. And yet I still find myself hoping, so _stupidly_ and _vainly,_ that things would change and I would get what I wanted even though I’m _certain_ that they won’t.”

Thor extended a hand, palm up, and Loki hesitantly placed one of his in it, Thor marveling at how different Loki’s hand was in comparison to his. His thumb brushed over Loki’s knuckles, a rough, calloused pad running over milk-white skin stretched across bone and cartilage.

“I’m sorry. What I’ve been doing isn’t terribly fair to you, but…it _hurts,_ Thor. Everything _hurts_ and I want it to just all go away, but it won’t and it can’t.” Loki sighed deeply, and Thor squeezed his hand.

“Is there anything I can do?” Thor asked, eyes flitting up to meet Loki’s. Of course, he knew _what_ he could do, but that couldn’t be an option, could it? He had already told Loki that they wouldn’t be lovers, that they couldn’t be lovers—he couldn’t rescind that choice, especially when he still saw that option as perverse.

“No.” A pause. “I…I think I just need time. More time.”

Thor nodded gravely, reluctantly letting go of Loki’s hand as he stood to leave. Loki gave him a long, sorrowful look as he stepped back from the table.

“Good night, Loki.”

Loki froze, mid-stride, and peered at Thor from over his shoulder. “Good night, Brother.”

\---

Even days later, Loki still could not shake the conversation he had had with Thor.

It lingered in the back of his mind, a particular nagging reminder of just how unhappy Thor was without his company. It did nothing to ease the separation—if Thor had been contended and pleased without Loki around, it would have been easier to accept. He would have been able to convince himself that Thor was better off without him hanging around like a stray dog, that Thor was enjoying his life now that Loki was written out of it. But Thor _missed_ him, Thor wanted their friendship, their closeness, back, and it clearly had hurt him when Loki had told him he couldn’t do that yet.

In the quiet, still air of his bedchamber, Loki silently conjured a spell he had used many times, and frequently as of late, sitting back on one of his couches to study his handiwork. The copy was almost perfect, from the width of his shoulders down to the scuffmarks on his boots, but Loki still frowned. His imitation of Thor was just that—an imitation, and there were always things wrong with it, things Loki couldn’t quite remember or envision.

He held up his palm, open handed, and the copy stared at him curiously before doing the same, and Loki could see the twisted, raised scar running through it. _Good._ He’d remembered that, at least. Thor’s hairline seemed a little off; Loki would have to sneak a glance at it the next time he encountered his brother.

The double, now left to his own devices, began to pick and tug at the scruff of his boots, and Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hunching over. Thor’s copy looked up at him before focusing his attentions on the tangled laces of his boots, and Loki sighed. He wondered what this copy would have to say if he would permit it to speak; he always denied these duplicates their voices because hearing them was too unsettling. There was something off about it, either the tone or the dialogue itself, and it reminded Loki all too much that these were just hollow impersonations of his brother.

A lock of hair fell into the double’s face as he leaned over, and Loki was struck by an instinctual desire to brush it from his face, yet he knew he couldn’t touch the illusion. For however lifelike it looked, there was no physical substance to it—it was a trick designed only for the eyes and not for the hands.

Sometimes he would conjure Thor with objects, with a book or a puzzle, and simply watch him engaged in solving it or reading it. Frequently he conjured Thor with Mjolnir or other weapons and let him spar about the room, studying his form in action like he had for years.

Other times he would leave Thor to his own devices, let him roam about like a curious pet until he invariably touched something real and the illusion was shattered, and then Loki would angrily denigrate him into a puff of vapor. This Thor did not take long to reach for something. Invariably he stood, no longer content on the floor, and attempted to sit next to Loki, only to have his hand pass through his brother’s body.

Loki ended him, trying not to dwell on the shock and confusion that had been present on his face.

He leaned back onto the couch, sighing in disappointment. It always bothered him the most when the copies would reach for him, would attempt to interact with him, for it completely shattered that fragile, tenuous belief that this _was_ Thor and made Loki feel pathetic.

Once, and only once, he had conjured himself to watch him with Thor, and it was something he would never repeat. For a while the doubles had sat there, Thor’s arm gently looped over Loki’s shoulders, just holding him close, until they had turned to one another, eyes half-lidded, and embraced with a tender kiss. Loki had watched in curious horror, noted the utter _tenderness_ in such an embrace, a tenderness he had been denied his whole life, and then banished the two before they could finish their kiss.

He would never summon himself again in such a context.

The whole affair had made him feel like a voyeur and a letch (which he supposed, if he were to be honest, he _was_ ). For a long, long time, Loki had wondered if that would be what it would be like to have Thor as a lover. Would Thor be affectionate and gentle? Loki had never been kissed on the mouth (he supposed it was too intimate for his father); would Thor embrace him as lovingly as his double had?

Those thoughts made it all too easy to entertain fantasies of his brother, ones that he had fostered before Thor denied him and then abandoned, only to rediscover them in this recent period of separation. He could remember all too well how his brother’s flesh had felt under his fingers, the soft moans and gasps he had uttered when Loki touched and teased him, the way he looked when being pleasured. Most times he would chase these thoughts from his mind, remind himself that Thor would find him a monster if he knew that Loki still entertained such notions, but on other (much rarer) occasions, he would remember that Thor told him his feelings weren’t wrong, and then he would indulge, reveling in the ecstasy and release.

But he always was left feeling sordid and unhealthy after, whatever enjoyment he had gained from such acts quickly eroded by waves of guilt and self-loathing. He wasn’t _harming_ anyone, he knew, but it didn’t help him shake the feeling that this was wrong, was so utterly twisted and abhorrent and _perverse,_ just like _he_ was. _What would Thor think of you,_ his mind asked, _if he knew what you were doing? How you were soiling his image?_

Loki shook his buzzing thoughts out of his head, rising from his couch and storming off into his bath chamber. It was late enough; he would have a bath and then retire to his bed. The water was drawn, steam quickly fogging up the mirror and metal fixtures, coating them in condensation. Carelessly, Loki shucked his clothing and climbed into the water, ignoring how it scalded his skin, and sat there until the water had lost all of its heat, trying to quell desires and thoughts he knew he should not have.

\---

Thor waited a week before coming to Loki again.

It was late, long after everyone else had retired to their chambers, when the servants were just finishing cleaning up after the night’s festivities and the last shift of guards were taking their posts. Loki was holed up in his room, copying passages from a manuscript that he wanted to keep for reference, and he was so deep in concentration that he nearly missed Thor’s soft knock at his door.

The quiet raps were so _unlike_ his brother, so gentle and timid where Thor had been loud and brash, and as Loki pulled the door open, he saw the behavior mimicked in his brother’s posture, shoulders hunched and looking small compared to his former self. Thor’s face seemed tight, pinched in concentration, and Loki saw deep circles beginning to show under his eyes. He seemed tired and withdrawn as he stepped in the room, moving much slower than he usually did.

Thor stopped halfway between the doors and Loki’s desk, eyes locked on the small candle he had burning there for added light.

“Did you need something?” Loki asked as he pushed the door shut.

“I came to talk,” Thor said, eyes never leaving the flame. “If you’re willing to listen, that is.” He jerked his head over his shoulder to glance at Loki, who nodded in response.

“What you said the other night…I’ve been thinking about it. Thinking about what you wanted, what you asked for, and what I can…offer.” His voice trailed off, and his eyes went blank.

“And?” Loki didn’t like the way this conversation seemed to be heading.

Thor ran a hand through his hair. Loki took a few steps over to his couch, sitting gracefully on it, and patted the spot next to him for his brother. Thor seemed to be using all of his concentration for either standing or talking, and Loki reasoned that if he removed one task, the other would be easier for his brother to manage.

It took Thor a few moments to notice, but eventually he did, and the bed creaked as he sat beside Loki. “I…I’ve realized that I _could_ do such a thing, but I don’t…. Loki, I want to help you, and if this is the solution to your problems know that I would gladly do it, but I…I can’t see how this would benefit you. If you truly desired it beyond all other things, then I would agree, but otherwise….”

His voice trailed off once more, and an uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them.

“Would it mean that much to you?” Thor asked, and Loki heard his voice crack. “If we were lovers?”

Loki slowly traced the lines on the inside of his left palm with his right thumb, skimming over the wrinkles in his flesh. He shut his eyes, pained and tensed, wishing Thor would just _leave,_ would just leave him forever and never disturb him again.

“Yes.”

Thor inhaled sharply. “Then I…I can—”

“Thor, _stop._ ”

When Loki next looked up at him, his brother’s face was confused and frightened. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t _do_ anything,” Loki murmured. “But the fact that…that you would _consider_ such a thing, on my behalf…. Thor, I can’t have that.”

“But, Loki, it’s what you _want—_ ”

“Just because it’s something I want doesn’t mean it’s something I should get.”

Thor looked crestfallen. How awful it must be for him, Loki wondered, caught in this struggle, torn between a desire to please his brother at any and all costs and a willing betrayal of his own conscience and morals? If they laid together, Thor would blame himself every day thereafter, would never be able to rid himself of the guilt, and he knew, knew, that it would destroy them. Loki did not want to pay that price for what he desired.

“I just want to make you happy.”

“I know, Thor. I know.”

They sat in silence for what felt like, and very may well have been, hours. Loki, at some point, reached for Thor’s hand, his brother offering it up without protest, and he entwined their fingers together in a manner that was possibly too affectionate, but Thor made no move to pull away. Loki eventually untangled them, and instead mapped out Thor’s palm under his fingers, tracing along the hard calluses and the lines embedded in his flesh, before skirting over the thick purple scar that divided his palm in two.

“Thor,” he began, thumbing circles at one end of the scar, feeling guilt curl in him for taking advantage, but unable to stop himself from grabbing this one thing. “I appreciate what you’re offering, even though I can’t accept. But can I ask something small of you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I…I’ve never been kissed. Would you…?” Loki hesitated, watching apprehension cloud Thor’s face for a moment. “Nothing more than a kiss, Thor. I just want to know what it’s like—”

“You’ve never been kissed?”

“I…not…” Loki absentmindedly pointed at his mouth. “Of all the things I’ve…I’ve done, of all the things I was made to do, I never…no.”

There was horror and something quite like pity in Thor’s gaze, and Loki flushed. How pathetic must he look to his brother now? He opened his mouth to take his request back, but Thor spoke before he could.

“All right.” There was still hesitancy to how Thor said those words, and from the tension in his eyes Loki could see that the request made him uncomfortable, but he had _agreed._ The tension melted into sympathy after a moment, Thor fidgeting where he sat, twisting to face Loki.Slowly, Thor raised his hand, cupping the side of Loki’s face, his thumb brushing over Loki’s cheekbone. “I…if you want that I should stop, say so.”

Loki nodded, and then Thor was leaning down, leaning close to him, his eyes closed and head tilted slightly, and Loki quickly parroted him, until he felt Thor’s mouth against his own. His lips were warm and rough, his beard scratching at Loki’s skin, his breath ghosting over Loki’s flesh, with his hand still holding him close. Loki suddenly felt that his hands needed to be someplace, that he was doing it _wrong,_ and he quickly reached up to gently place one at the back of Thor’s skull, entwining it in his hair.

Just as the small spark of pleasure flared up in Loki, Thor pulled away, staring at his brother with half-lidded eyes as Loki opened his in shock. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Thor said. Blue eyes searched his face intently. “You won’t ask me for anything beyond this? This is all you desire?”

“I said I wouldn’t.”

“All right,” Thor said, swallowing thickly before he moved forward again, eyes closing once more. When their lips met again, pleasure rose in Loki, tingling across his skin as Thor moved his lips over Loki’s own. And then he felt something warm and wet lick at his lips. Instinctively he parted them, and then Thor’s tongue was in his mouth, uninvited but welcome anyway, slipping inside in longer and deeper strokes until he was tracing a line across the roof of Loki’s mouth that made him moan and clutch at Thor’s hair.

Cautiously, he slipped his tongue into Thor’s mouth, his brother’s hand suddenly fisting in his own hair, holding him in place. Thor kissed back harder while Loki slowly started to explore Thor’s mouth, trying to imitate what his brother did so easily. They stayed like that for several minutes, held together by Thor's grip, their mouths sliding back and forth, trading soft slips of lips and tongue until Loki's shyness and hesitancy was erased, until he returned Thor's kisses with the same amount of confidence.

It was with the taste of salt that Thor pulled back, and Loki felt his brother trace a thumb over his cheek.  Worried blue eyes looked at him when the pad of his finger came back damp.  “Loki?” Thor asked worriedly. Loki choked in a quick breath, dragged a smile up from somewhere because when he’d asked Thor for this, he’d never imagined being given a gift like that, and wound his arms around his brother in a tight hug. “Loki?” Thor said again, and Loki knew his concern.

He shook his head.  “No.  No...I... _thank you_.”

“Are you certain?” Thor said, and Loki grinned again, dabbing the tears from his face with his shirtsleeve.

“Yes, Thor,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, then.”

Loki pulled back and folded his arms in his lap, nervously pinning his cuffs between the heel of his palm and his fingers. “This doesn’t…this doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Thor shook his head. “No. You are still my brother, and I think no less of you for this.” He dipped his head, disengaging from Loki. “I…I hope you do not think me a pervert for granting it.”

“Never, Thor.”

\---

It was the late evening by the time Loki returned to his chambers.

Loki knew something was wrong, was _off,_ the moment he pushed open his doors, however. There was light coming from inside, from sconces he hadn’t lit, ones he knew for certain were extinguished when he had left. Someone had been in his room.

Cautiously, he eased the door open, creeping inside, trying to be as silent as possible. He briefly thought about leaving, about going to find Thor, but it was too cowardly an action for him. Thor wouldn’t always be able to protect him, and Loki was grown now. He could defend himself, perhaps not in a manner that Asgard found apropos, but in one that was, above all, effective.

With a spell ready on his lips and a knife conjured in his hands, Loki moved past the door and into the center of the room, his eyes quickly scanning for any disturbed objects or intruders. When he found one, however, he dropped the knife in surprise.

“I was wondering when you’d return,” Odin said, from the far wall of the room, standing near Loki’s desk, back to his son. He turned partway to look at Loki when he approached.

“Don’t you dare even _think_ to lay a hand on me,” Loki cautioned. “Thor knows. If you hurt me, if you do _anything_ to me, he’ll know.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Odin said, almost arrogantly, and Loki felt anger flare in him, fresh coals tossed on a slow-burning fire. Odin snorted. “And what will he do? Defy his father? Defy his _king_? He won’t do anything for a worthless runt like you, not when he’s my heir.”

Loki’s lips drew into a thin line. “Thor doesn’t care about the throne any longer. He doesn’t _want_ to be your heir, he’s told me—”

“And you believed that?” Odin laughed. “What else does he have? He was born into it; it’s all he’s ever known. You think, in the end, he could ever be anything else?” He paused and folded his arms behind his back. “And where has this new-found defiance come from? The last time we were alone, you were on your knees, begging me.”

“That was a long time ago,” Loki whispered coldly. “Things have changed.”

“Not so long ago and some things never change,” Odin scoffed. “You think that just because you’ve told Thor your woes you’re invincible now? It won’t last.”

“You’re wrong,” Loki murmured. “You don’t know him the way I know him.”

Odin tilted his head, intrigued. “Oh? And how is that? Have you seduced him now? Shown him your…talents?”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” Loki snapped, silently thankful that he hadn’t, that he could feel this righteous anger without being a hypocrite. He narrowed his eyes, teeth gritted together in his jaw.

“I supposed I overestimated your abilities, then,” Odin corrected. He moved next to Loki’s desk,

“Thor is my _brother._ I would do no such thing to him.”

“Perhaps,” Odin said, and Loki turned on his heel, ready to leave the room and deny Odin to opportunity to mock him further. He would wait for his father to leave, and return to his chambers later, when he was sure they were unoccupied.

“You’ll be his undoing, you know.”

Loki stopped in his tracks, twisting around to glare at his father over his shoulder. The smile that crept onto Odin’s face was positively unnerving.

“You never learned divination, did you? It’s very useful, actually.” Odin tapped the cork of the inkwell. “You’ll be the undoing of us all, really, but Thor…he’ll die at the hands, or jaws, rather, of your son.”

“You’re lying. You’re a liar, that’s what you always have been—”

“Strange that someone with the nickname of ‘Liesmith’ should throw such an accusation around,” Odin mused. “If you don’t believe me, consult the norns. Your son the serpent will be the death of Thor, of your _beloved_ brother.”

“No,” Loki spat. “I won’t let it happen.”

“You can’t change fate.” Odin’s glower was more menacing now. “I learned that lesson well enough.” He paused, fingertip still tapping the inkwell’s cork. “But I suppose you have no reason to listen to the words of an old man.”

“Get out,” Loki snapped. He was done running. This was his bedchamber, not his father’s. He wouldn’t be ruled in it any longer. “I’ve no desire to hear to your…your….”

“My truths?”

“ _Get out!_ ” he cried, pointing furiously at the door. “Just get _out!_ ”

Odin raised a brow, clearly surprised at Loki’s outburst. Loki was vaguely aware of how manic he must look, jerking limbs ushering his father toward the door with an angry, resentful expression plastered onto his face. But if looking like a madman was what it took to get his father _out_ of his room—and preferably out of his life altogether—then Loki would do just that.

It worked, and Odin, snorting once in amusement, left the inkwell on Loki’s desk alone and departed the room in several long, slow strides. The moment his father was out the doors Loki sealed them, locked them with a spell to ensure that he would be alone. He needed to think, to put these thoughts in order, and he needed to do it without outside influence, _especially_ from Thor.

He wanted to run to his brother, to confess what had just happened, to have Thor reassure him that it was a _lie,_ that it had to be a lie, but Loki knew that Odin’s gift was in divination. He had taken up _seidr_ for it, practiced the womanly arts that Loki so favored all in the pursuit of knowledge, of knowing what was to come. His predictions before had never been false, but that wasn’t to say that these suppositions could merely have been deigned to upset Loki and drive him from Thor.

Without divining himself, without consulting the norns, Loki had no way to know, and, more terrifyingly, little reason to doubt.

He swallowed thickly and sat on his bed, the velvet covers dipping around him. He felt…numb, numb and detached, as if he were looking at this scene through a pane of glass, watching it as some observer rather than an active participant. His life had become a stage drama, and he had been pushed from the stage, out into the audience, to let the other cast members decide his fate and tell his story.

He didn’t want to let his father tell it, however.

Odin spoke of jaws and serpents, of things that possibly couldn’t be. Loki didn’t want children, especially serpents, and above all he never wanted to hurt his brother.

Sighing, he folded his arms over his chest and hunched down. He didn’t want these things to be true; he certainly never wanted to be the end of Thor, to be the orchestrator of his undoing. He loved Thor, beyond measure or reason, and he would do anything, give anything, to keep him safe from harm. But how did he keep him safe when that harm was he himself?

Loki knew the answer was simple. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

He had to leave Asgard. For his sake, for Thor’s sake, for the sake of those he cared for. He had to leave Asgard and never return, at least until he was certain that Odin’s prophecies had been fictitious. He would go to the norns, would consult those who constructed fate itself and wove the threads that bound them all, and they would tell him the truth.

Thor had been right. He wasn’t broken; he needed to heal, and he would do so far from Asgard itself. He would be away from those who didn’t understand him, from the society that spurned him, from the monster that had hurt him.

Resolved, Loki stood, and began to gather his things.

\---

Loki couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to Thor.

He knew Thor would be torn up about the issue, would offer to go with him. Thor wouldn’t try and convince him to stay—he knew as well as Loki that this place was no good for him and has already offered to help him get away once before. But he would want to go with, if only to stay by his brother’s side and make sure that no further harm came to him. Loki couldn’t handle that, couldn’t handle taking Thor away from this and being _alone_ with him, alone but not together.

By the time he had finished gathering his things, it was the dead of night. He knew Thor would undoubtedly be asleep, curled up in his bed, and Loki reasoned that now was a perfect time to leave. He would be out of Asgard before the sun came up, before Thor could wake and find him missing.

But it would be utterly cruel to leave without giving Thor some kind of acknowledgment, and so Loki scrawled a note in charcoal onto a scrap of parchment. The note was just enough to quell some of Thor’s worries, to let him know that Loki’s departure had been his choice, and that he would be safe and not to follow.

All that remained was to deliver it.

The halls were nearly dark and completely empty as Loki walked through them, the note tucked into his sleeve. He stopped before Thor’s doors, cast in an orange glow from the sconces on either side, and ever so hesitantly, he placed his hand on the door, palm flat upon it, the gold cool to the touch.

Slowly, and with great care, Loki pushed the door open, the hall’s light drifting inside, a bright stripe of fiery orange painted on the black floor.

He lingered in Thor’s doorway, eyes roaming over the contents of his brother’s room, from the armor stand bearing his regal hauberk that glinted dimly in the near-dark, to the ornate, polished wooden dressers on the far wall. He settled his gaze on the bed, finding Thor lying on his side, facing Loki and the doorway, with one arm curled in front of him and the covers draped up to his shoulders. Mjolnir rested on the floor beneath him, seated neatly on its head, handle angled upward, ready to be instantly grabbed (and potentially wielded) in case of a disturbance. Loki looked at it fondly, still glad his brother had received it, glad his brother treasured it so, glad he had suffered to give Thor such a gift.

Thor signed in his sleep as Loki crept further into the room, his hand pulling closer to his body, and Loki froze, temporarily afraid that Thor would wake and misconstrue his intentions for being here, in the dead of night. But Thor remained fast asleep, and Loki padded toward him and his nightstand.

He lingered over his brother, canvassing Thor’s face, studying every little detail of his brow, his eyes, the strong line of his nose and the shape of his mouth. This was the last time Loki would see Thor, the last time he would ever set eyes on his brother, his friend and companion, the man who had meant more to Loki than anyone else could ever hope to. He would be damned if he ever let himself forget Thor’s face, forget the minute wrinkles that appeared in the corners of his eyes when he smiled, or the tiny dimples set in his cheeks, or way his jaw set in concentration.

There was a desire to touch, to trace Thor’s features with his fingers, but Loki couldn’t do so. His hand hovered briefly above Thor’s cheekbone, only to fall limply back to his side, and Loki inhaled deeply, silently sighing as he gave his brother one last, long glance.

The note was set on Thor’s dresser; Loki hoped his brother would find it before he started to search all of Asgard for Loki. He tried to make it conspicuous but not obvious, placing it amidst Thor’s items but propping it up in such a fashion as to draw attention to it. Hopefully Thor was observant enough to notice, and Loki smiled wryly when he remembered all the times he had seen his brother overlook what was blatantly in front of him.

Loki took a step back from the bed, glancing once more over Thor’s sleeping figure before turning away to walk back to the door. He stopped, however, as his eyes caught something small and shiny on one of Thor’s shelves, and he stopped, staring until he could discern what it was in the low light. The soft glint came from the tiny doll he had given Thor all those years ago, from Magni’s miniature sword. Loki smiled softly, deviating from his path and heading to the shelf instead.

Silently he lifted Magni from his spot, grinning as he silently whispered a spell, one that conjured a new arm, complete with Magni’s little shield, extending from the snapped stub on Magni’s shoulder. The grains knit together, forming one new, solid, fine piece, and then Loki glanced back over at Thor and the note on the nightstand.

Loki slipped back over, picking the note up and setting the doll in its place, resting the note in Magni’s tiny lap. _There._ Now Thor would be certain to see it.

He wondered what Thor would do the next morning, when he found out Loki was gone, when he discovered the small note perched delicately on his nightstand. Would he be angry? _Undoubtedly,_ Loki thought. He would be furious with his parents, and perhaps a bit angry with Loki, too, for never discussing such things with him, for leaving like this.

Thor had every right to be angry about such a thing, Loki realized, as he opened the door. He looked once more on Thor’s sleeping form, hoping that Thor could forgive him someday.

\---

From far away, Asgard shimmered like a handful of jewels.

Loki stood on the foothills of the mountains surrounding Asgard, perched atop a grassy knoll, staring back down on the city itself. He was wrapped in a large, dark cloak, the hood resting loosely at his shoulders, the wind ruffling his hair. His cloak fluttered when the breeze picked up, and Loki sighed, wondering how things had come to this, how his whole life had led up to this moment, to this very second of standing in the darkness looking at the only home he had ever known.

He knew where he would go first—to Nornheim, to speak with Skuld. But from there, the future existed as a sort of black void, a nebulous cloud that he couldn’t make sense of. There was no one to guide him, no one to order him, to tell him where to go or what to do, and the sudden sense of freedom was…overwhelming.

But for now, Loki had a goal. He had a task in his mind, a visit to make. With a tiny, mournful grin pulling at his lips, he pulled his hood over his head, feeling the sad twist of guilt in his gut, guilt for leaving Thor, for leaving Sif and Hogun and Volstagg, those he had come to care for.

It was for the best, he reasoned, as he turned his back on Asgard.

It was for the best. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter I think everyone's been waiting for. I'm sorry it's not as...satisfying...as you probably all hoped, but there'll be more resolution in the last few chapters. I'm nearly done with this story, about 3 chapters left to go after this, so it won't be long.
> 
> Once again, my thanks to Moiraine. 
> 
> Nornheim isn't really mentioned all that much in the comics, aside from Karnilla and her keep. So that's kinda BS'ed.

Thor rose late that next morning.

He had woken early, but his bed was warm and inviting and had easily seduced him into staying put, lounging about in it until the sun had fully risen and was streaming brightly into his room. It has hard to find the motivation to get up and begin his day, but with a sigh, he eventually pushed his covers back, finding them too warm to linger in any longer, and drew a bath, one that was cool and refreshing. He took his time drying off and then headed back into his room to get dressed.

Thor was just finishing up the last button on his doublet when he spied Magni on his dresser, holding a folded piece of parchment. That doll had been lying on a shelf when he had last seen it—he had put it there himself, and he clearly remembered that it had been _broken,_ its little arm snapped cleanly in half,yet now it was whole, the tiny shield fixed to the restored limb.

Someone had been in his room.

Thor looked about, trying to spot any other items that might have been moved or disturbed, something that might give a clue as to who had been intruding in his bedroom. But aside from the doll, there was nothing. And since Magni only had significance to one person besides Thor, he _knew_ who had come into the room while he slept. Dread pooling in his gut,  Thor rapidly stepped forward and snatched the note.

Thick fingers flipped it open, and Thor began to read.

_Thor,_

_Before I begin, know that I write you this note under no duress. No one has forced me to do what I am doing, the choices I make are entirely my own._

_I suppose this was inevitable. You and I both know I cannot stay here; you said yourself that you wanted to take me away. If I stay, I will die, so it’s time for me to go. I wish you could have come with me, Brother, but this is something I have to do on my own, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to ask you to come. You still have a life here and you can’t live basing all your decisions on how they might affect me._

_I have gone because I needed to go, because we both need to be free of this. Don’t look for me, Thor, for you will not find me. Know instead that I will miss you and that I will always love you._

_Loki_

Thor couldn’t breathe. Habit brought him to his bed, where he sat down, still holding the note and staring at it, wishing that this were a dream. A thick, fat droplet landed on the paper—Thor hadn’t even realized he was crying, and he carefully set the note aside, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm.

He had failed Loki.

It was as simple as that. He hadn’t been able to save his brother. Despite his efforts, despite all his love and care, it was too little and far too late. _Of course it was too little,_ his mind snarled. _You let those monsters have him for years, without lifting a finger. How could you expect a few pats on the back to be enough for what he went through?_

It wasn’t. It never would be. And Thor had lost any further chance at making it right.

Tears stung at his eyes again, blurring his vision as they rolled down his face. He blinked, trying to clear them, to no avail. He swallowed, feeling the frog in his throat, and hung his head. A thick blond curtain of hair fell around his face, shutting the rest of the world out, and Thor let himself cry, breath shuddering as his tears fell and dampened the fabric of his pants.

He had failed Loki, and now he was gone.

His little brother, the one that Thor was supposed to protect and care for, gone.

It was like he had lost a limb. Loki was nearly a _part_ of him—they had shared their childhood, grown up together, and though they had grown apart for awhile, for the last few months they had been so close that Thor didn’t take an action without first considering how it might affect Loki. And now, trying to imagine the rest of his life _without_ his brother haunted Thor. He’d fought to save Loki when his brother had tried to end his life because Thor couldn’t _picture_ a life without him.

And now, that was his reality.

With that thought, he reached a decision. What, he wondered, could he possibly have left to lose? He rose, wiped his eyes and nose with a cloth, blinked a few times, collected the note, and departed the room. It didn’t take him long to reach Frigga’s chambers, and he didn’t bother knocking as he pushed the doors open.

She was sitting at her vanity, contemplating a pair of earrings held in each hand, the jewels winking brilliantly in the light, and she looked over and smiled as Thor entered. But her smile vanished as she saw his expression, as resigned and grief-stricken as he felt inside, and instead fear clouded her face as Thor tossed the note onto the vanity.

“He’s gone,” Thor said.

Frigga looked at the note, but made no move to touch it. “I-I know. One of the servants told us this morning.”

Thor scoffed and snorted. “And you didn’t think to tell me? You sit here, as if nothing had changed, as if nothing was wrong? Your _son_ is gone, fled from his home and his realm, and you’re worried about your…your silly little jewels?” He stepped forward and snatched them out of her hands, tossing them to the floor before crushing the delicate gold beneath his boot. Frigga flinched in response, surprised by the brutality in his gesture.

“What’s gotten into you?” she said indignantly.

Thor tilted his head. “My _brother_ is _gone_ , and he’s not coming back _._ Am I simply supposed to just accept this, the way you so clearly have? But, then, I suppose you were waiting for this, weren’t you? Either for this or for his death.”

Her face paled, and her eyes widened as she stared at him, knowledge creeping over her features before she dropped her gaze to the floor and her ruined ornaments still glittering near Thor’s feet. “So you know,” she said, almost sadly.

“Yes.”

“Then you can’t deny that this is for the best.”

Thor gritted his teeth.

“Oh, come now,” she burst out, exasperated. “You know what this place was to him. You saw him, saw what he was like, how much he hated it. Tell me he’s not better off now.”

His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white. “He had _reason_ to hate this place.”

“He was an outsider, Thor. He never belonged here to begin with—”

“He was your _son_!”

“He was _not_ my son. He was some…some runt your father brought home, a foundling that _I_ had to raise and pretend was my own.”

Thor’s eyes were bright with anger. “Is that what you saw him as? As some stray creature that you had to burden yourself with?”

“He was the son of our enemy, Thor. His own father left him to die, and _that_ is undeniable.”

Thor was silent for a long moment. “Then what was the point? Did you raise him just to torture him? Tolerate him only to inflict whatever pain you could on him?” he asked weakly.

Frigga’s face softened. “I didn’t think your father would…do what he did. I…. When he began, I begged him to stop, I told him that Loki would only grow to hate Asgard if he continued. And he told me that his plans to let him rule in Laufey’s stead no longer mattered. There were two more sons, ones who were alive and well, and that Loki wasn’t needed for succession. But no matter how much I didn’t want him in my house, Thor, I….” Her voice trailed off, and she wiped a tear from her face, staring down at her dress now. She seemed defeated, smaller and weaker than Thor had ever seen her, all of her regal power stripped away. “I never wanted _that_.”

“Then why didn’t you stop him? You could have saved Loki, you could have—”

“He’s not just your father, Thor, He is the king of Asgard.  And as king, he listens to no one but himself.” Her voice was cold and bitter. “And I…I had you to look after. What was to say that if he were denied Loki he wouldn’t have inflicted the same abuse on you? Or onto Baldr? I had to protect you—you were the _heir,_ you were my true child.”

Thor’s head was spinning. His chest felt tight, his legs weak, his stomach churning. How could _this_ be the woman who had tucked him in so lovingly at night? Who had sang to him when he was young? Who had tended his scrapes and held him when he was frightened? How could she be the same woman who would willingly let a child be harmed simply because that child was not hers?

“I…I regret it every day,” she continued. “But I did what I had to.”

“You threw him to the wolves,” Thor snarled. “He was a _child._ He couldn’t even defend himself, and you _abandoned_ him, you let that monster have free reign—”

“And if I had denied him, and he had used you in the same manner—what then, Thor? What then? Would you have sacrificed your own child, your own blood, to save an outsider?”

“I would have done the right thing, and let neither be harmed, no matter what it took.”

She sighed. “I wish I could have been so noble,” she said wearily, and for a split second, Thor felt a pang of misplaced pity for her. It wasn’t right to feel bad for her, Thor knew, but he realized that she had been caught up in this mess just as he had been.

“Was he always like this?” Thor asked after a long moment. “My father.”

“I don’t know, Thor,” she confessed. “I wasn’t always with him, and a man can hide a great deal under the cruelties of wartime, especially a man of power. And war can change even the best of men.” She paused to compose herself. “He may have been,” she said honestly, “but I saw no sign of it, not until….”

Thor said nothing, letting the silence draw out around them.

“You were good to him, Thor,” Frigga finally said. “For all the suffering he endured, at least you were good to him.”

“He deserved better,” Thor replied bitterly. “From all of us.”

“He did,” she said, hollowly, and when Thor looked at her, he could see true remorse in her eyes. It did nothing to assuage his anger, however—merely added more fuel to those fires, stoked and riled them. What right did she have to feel remorse? She had done _nothing_ for him but condemn him, scorn him and abandon him. She was a party to this, and didn’t deserve the relief that came with honest sadness and regret.

Thor gritted his jaw, and Frigga shifted uncomfortably. “There’s nothing more you can do now, Thor.” She refused to look at him, and Thor turned away. “It’s too late for that.”

“It was too late the moment he was brought here.”

“Yes.” She laughed cynically, bitterly, and Thor heard her sniffle at the end. “I suppose it was.”

Thor had nothing to say to that, and she was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you loved him.”

He hung his head, staring at the floor. He had cared for Loki, yes, but it hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been enough to stop him from leaving, from continuing to. While he wasn’t as bad as parents, Thor knew his own measure of guilt.

He wanted Loki back. It was as simple as that. He wanted to leave his room and find his brother in the hallway, laughing that Thor had been fooled by his prank, and even though Thor would be angry, it would pass in seconds because his brother would be _there,_ would be alive and well and near to him.

Thor folded his arms over his chest and took a step toward the door.

“Thor?” Frigga called, and he stopped, but didn’t look back at her. “Where are you going? To Heimdall?”

“No,” he said, swallowing thickly. “I’m going to see Father.”

“You shouldn’t,” she said, and he heard her rise from the bench, the items on the vanity jingling and clinking as she pushed it in her haste. “What good will it do, Thor? Everything is _done._ ”

Thor took another step. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it _is_. To confront him now will only anger him, and you’ve seen just how furious he can get.”

“I don’t care,” he replied, pulling open the door. “Let him be angry. I’m not afraid.”

“You should be. Thor, please, I don’t want to lose a son,” she said, her voice quiet and pleading.

Thor glanced back at her, one hand still on the doorknob as he pulled it open. “You already have, if only you cared enough to see it.” Her hands clenched in the folds of her gown, and he saw that she was shaking, trembling, her fingers twisting in the cloth.

Thor turned away and shut the door.

 

\---

Nornheim was not welcoming.

As he climbed toward the keep where the Norns dwelt, Loki found the terrain barren and rocky, inhospitable, and he wondered how anything could grow here, and more importantly, why anyone would choose to live here. The sky was a dull gray, the hills and mountains shaped by the unrelenting winds that whistled and whipped around him as he continued his ascent. He scowled, pulled his cloak tighter around him, and continued on, hoping that conditions inside the keep would be more welcoming.

When he finally reached the massive structure, he stood before the outermost doors and punded on them, waiting for some kind of indication that he would be allowed inside, but nothing came, no servant, no call, no sign whatsoever. With reservation, Loki pulled open the heavy wooden door, surprised that it was unlocked, and strode inside, tugging the thing shut behind him as the wind howled at his back.

The keep was dark and deserted inside, something that should not have surprised Loki but did nonetheless. The great hall was empty—no dishes lined its table, no men sat at its benches—as were most of the other halls he encountered. It was eerie, being in a place so large and unfriendly, where the dust seemed to be the only occupant, blanketing anything and everything so thickly that Loki could look back behind himself and see his tracks, as fresh as if they had been laid in snow. He wondered why such things were here, simply to be left to tarnish and gather dust.

He climbed higher in the keep, moving up through it, figuring that if the Norns were anywhere, they would be at the highest point. Stair after stair, level after level, he moved up, until he was climbing the last spiral staircase to the final floor in the keep. _Perhaps the Norns have moved on,_ he reasoned. _Wouldn’t you leave this place?_

But when he reached the top, he heard voices, and realized his efforts had not been in vain. For there, in front of a large loom, passing the shuttle between them, were the Norns. Uld, Verdandi, and Skuld, three women clad in thick, hooded robes, the ones in charge of deciding the fate of every creature in the realms, who knew everything that had been, everything that is, and everything to come.

Skuld, however, was the only one to acknowledge him, letting the other two continue weaving as she approached him. She pushed her hood back, revealing her face, all sharp angles and dark hair like him, with a knowing grin.

“Laufeyson,” she said. “You’ve come.”

“I have,” Loki said, dropping to one knee and bowing before her.

“You wish to know if what Odin spoke of is true. Of things to come.”

“I do, if you’ll grant me such knowledge.”

She cast a longing glance at the loom. “And what will you do if the answers are not what you hope for?”

“I...I will do whatever is in my power to change such an outcome.”

She nodded, but he could see the dark gleam in her eyes. “What Odin spoke to you of...these events, as I see them, are true. Your children are to be the undoing of Odin and his son. He told you of the snake, yes, but that is not the only child in your future. There is a wolf, a wolf that will devour him before you lead an army against Asgard, with Surtur at your side. Odin feared these things when he saw them. He came to me, years ago, to seek counsel on divination regarding you. He did not believe that such things could be true, either—he did not think that you were capable of it.”

Loki stood in silence. “I am to father monsters and be Asgard’s demise, then.” He laughed cynically, hollowly.

“And do you not deserve this? Do you not deserve to rain down fire and death upon those who hurt you so?”

Loki had no response. Skuld grinned, her lips drawing together in a thin, cunning line. “You know that you do, that it is your right after what was done to you. But yet you resist. Why?”

“M-My brother,” Loki stammered. “He is important to me.”

She laughed, high and reedy. “Your _brother?_ He is but one man, Loki. Trivial in the eyes of the cosmos. You would forsake your vengeance for _one_ man?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Your ‘brother’ should mean nothing to you. For years he ignored your plight, just as they all did, and when told the truth, he refused to believe you. Why, then, should you worry so for him?”

“Because he’s a good man.”

“So he tosses a few kind words at you and suddenly you revere him?” she mused between more laughter. “Thor is just like any one of them, Loki. You know it, for you’ve seen it firsthand.”

Loki shook his head. “I’ve...I’ve no desire for this. I seek only to protect my brother.”

“Do you think you can change your fate, Laufeyson?”

“My fate is my own decision,” Loki snapped. “You see these things, but they are yet to happen—they are not yet certain.”

Skuld was silent for a long moment, a dry little grin painted on her lips. “Perhaps you can change your fate,” she mused, “but know that you cannot escape from it.”

Loki nodded. Skuld turned back toward the loom. “I will watch your thread with interest, Laufeyson. Know that your choices are your own.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not rush to thank me,” she said. “You know not what the consequences of this may be.”

He swallowed grimly, taking a step backwards. “Then I thank you for your audience,” he corrected, turning toward the door as Skuld picked up her weaving once more.

 

\---

 

Thor stormed through the hallways.

Each step made him angrier, rage coiling inside of him as he continued through the hallways, determined to reach the throne room. His father would be holding an audience with the nobles, both from this realm and from others, listening to their requests and settling political matters. Though he would like to burst in, interrupt the meeting and shout his father’s crimes in front of the most powerful men in the nine realms and bring Odin’s entire house crashing in on itself, he knew his father would never allow him to get far. If he wanted to denounce his father, he would have to wait until they were alone, so Thor would wait until they left, stand just inside the doorway until his father finished his business.

Every servant and guard he passed blanched at the sight of him and then scurried away in fear. Thor’s temper was second only to that of his father, and in his youth Thor had been known for the ease at which he could be baited and would give in to his anger.

The guards admitted him without question. In years prior, Thor had often sat in on his father’s advising sessions, for he had assumed that one day he would be the one on the throne, negotiating hostage settlements or dedicating military forces and making alliances. But those plans had existed when he’d still been blind and deaf to his father’s true nature, and now that he was aware, Thor knew they would never come to pass.

By the time Thor entered, his rage had grown and built so much that he felt strangely...calm, knowing that his chance for confrontation would soon be at hand. He took a spot by the doors, near an ambassador from Vanaheim, and took a deep breath, steadying himself and folding his arms behind his back, rolling his shoulders and feeling the eerie serenity seep into his bones.

He would confront his father. It would be far too little far too late, but it would be _something,_ and right now Thor needed whatever he could take. Loki was gone, his parents were monsters, he had proven himself unworthy as heir to Asgard—there wasn’t really anything left in Thor’s life but this chance.

There were perhaps fifteen or twenty people in the room aside from himself, and Thor watched them come and go, watched them beseech his father for advice, watched them request his aid, and slowly, they filtered out of the room, until only a handful remained. Thor saw a steward approach his father, whisper something to the old man, and then depart, and when his father looked over Thor knew the steward had been speaking of him.

His father dismissed the men, and then, shockingly, the guards from the room, and surprise at the order was evident not only on their faces, but on Thor’s as well. At last, the room was empty, save for Thor and his father, seated regally in his throne.

“I assume you’ve come concerning Loki,” he said.

“Of course I have,” Thor replied.

His father settled himself in the throne.

“There’s no need to keep up this...this ruse, this _lie_ any longer,” Thor said. “I know what you did, what you are.” He paused for a moment. “How could you?”

Odin’s voice was icy. “You should watch your words carefully.”

“No!” Thor spat. “I’ve watched enough these last months, held my tongue every time I wanted to call you out on your crimes.”

“My crimes?” His father laughed. “You would judge me? You, a whelp who’s been fooled by a trickster and liar?”

“Don’t you dare slander him!” Thor shouted. “Not after what you did to him. He lied because _you_ ordered him to, to cover up what _you_ had done.”

There came a few soft, sardonic chuckles from the throne. “You defend him so vehemently, Thor. I had no idea you’d grown so…close.”

Thor had nothing to say to that. He thought his admiration and dedication to his brother were obvious by now, but from the gleam in his father’s eye he knew Odin had something else in mind.

“Did he seduce you, Thor? Did he show you those talents that came oh so naturally to him? Spread his legs and beckon for you to crawl between? Show you how skilled his mouth and hands are? Beg you to use him? He begs so prettily, you know.”

Thor’s lips curled into a snarl. “Loki wouldn’t do that, and neither would I. He and I are brothers; it’s only your own sickness that would see more to it than that!”

“Curious, then,” Odin continued, his smile cruel and knowing, “for he always harbored such desire for you.”

“Whatever desires he _may_ have had, he never acted upon them. Unlike you.” Thor glared up defiantly at his father. He might be king, he might sit on his throne and hold power, but underneath all those trappings, he was a criminal, and his status did not put him above the law.

Odin snorted at the jab. “Do you think yourself so high and mighty, Thor? So much better than everyone else? Better than me?”

“I am better than you,” Thor insisted, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “I could never do something like that, especially to a child.”

Odin raised his brows in surprise. “Is that all you think that it was? Desire?”

Thor glared up at him, with a challenging look.

His father waved an impatient hand. “It was part of it, yes, but not all,” he said, and Thor’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Your brother is Laufey’s son, and when we were at war he was Laufey’s _only_ son, and therefore the heir. But he was weak and small, left to die in their temple. I took him from the temple with the hopes to raise him, to instill a fondness for Asgard and the other realms in him, and then, when the time was right, to let him inherit his father’s throne.”

If that had been all his father had done, Thor supposed it would have been a fine plan. It may have seemed cruel to take Loki from his home, but it was saving his life and life in Asgard was much better than on Jotunheim. Perhaps Loki would have been a bit unpopular, as he had been, but he would have a roof over his head, food whenever he liked, fine clothes and jewels—the life of a true prince.

But things hadn’t gone according to plan.

“So I brought him here. I raised him, beside you, so that one day we would be assured of Jotunheim’s fealty. However, Laufey had a second son, and I realized that Loki would never be able to take the throne. My plans no longer mattered, but I had to keep him.” His father sighed. “Until Skuld came to me, told me what I had done had changed things, had changed fate. She showed me what was to come, how his survival had affected everything.”

“What do you mean?” Thor said, rushed. Was there something Loki had not told him? Some final secret his brother had kept?

Odin paused for a long moment, thinking. “Loki was to be the end of Asgard, of all of us. To you, to Heimdall, to myself, to all of its citizens, he would have been our doom. He shouldn’t have survived, and in saving his life, I gave him the means to fulfill that destiny.”

“No,” Thor said. “How could he? He’s not…he’s not….” He couldn’t articulate his thoughts any longer. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Odin shook his head. “He would sire children, Thor, that would be our end. A wolf, fated to be my death, and a serpent to be yours. And while we battled them he would lead armies from Muspellheim against us, with Surtur at his side.”

“No,” Thor insisted. “Lies. You’re lying again.”

“I didn’t want such stories to be true any more than you do!” his father roared, standing up out of the throne, and Thor flinched, eyes widening briefly in fear.

Silence hung in the room, heavy and choking, and Thor’s head was spinning, his stomach tight. “So you broke him,” he spat out at long last. “You tortured a child because of some…some _prophecy_ told you he _might_ be a threat. You tortured him and hurt him until you thought he wouldn’t be a danger anymore _._ ”

“Yes.”

“How could you? How could you do that to someone you raised as a _son_?”

“But he’s not my son.” Odin looked away for a moment before meeting Thor’s gaze again, his own burning with an unholy delight. “You’ve been in battle, Thor. You know what it’s like to hold someone’s life in your hands, what it’s like to control and dominate them, what it’s like to have absolute power over someone. There’s nothing quite like it, is there?”

Thor’s face twisted in disgust and revulsion, and Odin smiled. “Don’t deny it; you’ve felt that rush. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”

“He was a _child._ How can you liken battle to holding an innocent child down while you…while you _raped_ him?”

“They’re not the same, Thor, of course they’re not. But you know the desire of which I speak. And so I acted upon it.”

Thor shook his head slowly in disbelief. His father’s words had to be lies. Loki would never harm anyone; Thor knew that for certain. In his youth, he had been one for mischief, for pranks, but no one had ever been injured and almost all of his tricks had been without malice. Tears prickled in his eyes and he blinked, staring down at the floor. He wouldn’t cry before his father, before this monster, no matter how much this pained him—he could never give Odin such satisfaction.

“Why didn’t you just kill him? What was the point in making him suffer?” Thor asked at long last, his voice weak and rasping.

“Skuld warned me against such action when I considered it. She told me another could take his place if his thread were cut, and then I would have no control over that threat.”

Thor shook his head. “None of that justifies what you did. Nothing ever could. He was a child, and no future is certain—”

“You think I care for your approval? I did what had to be done—”

“You did what you _wanted_ to!” Thor bared his teeth once more. “You used a flimsy reason to act upon twisted desires! You call the jotnar monsters but you neglect to include yourself! You don’t deserve your title or your throne, or the loyalty of these people!”

“Still your tongue, boy, or I will have it cut from your mouth!”

Thor snorted. “You think I care? You think any of your subjects will still listen to you if I tell them the truth?”

“And you must be a greater fool than I thought if you think they will believe you! It is the word of an idiot prince speaking for his liar of a brother against the king, one who already has the trust and loyalty of his people.”

“Heimdall and Mother know; they will attest to what I—”

“Heimdall and Frigga will do no such thing. To speak in such a manner would be treason, punishable by death, and they well know it.”

Thor’s mouth fell agape, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. His father would truly kill his wife just to keep his secrets. “You’re insane,” he murmured, almost wondering.  And as he stared at his father he realized there would never be justice for what had been done to Loki. That fact stole the breath from Thor’s lungs, replacing his anger with profound sorrow, with frustration and regret, and Thor wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and mourn his brother.

Loki was gone, and all Thor was left with this twisted old man, with the remnants of a broken family that he no longer wanted to claim as his own.

Thor gritted his teeth. “Would you have done the same to myself? To Baldr?”

“If you were a threat, without hesitation.” It was said with such a blasé, uncaring tone that made Thor’s blood boil again, hotter than before. Thor curled his fingers into a fist, so tight that his nails began to dig into his palm.

“You disgust me,” Thor spat. “I hate you. I hate you and all that you’ve done. I hate you for all the lives you’ve ruined.”

Odin laughed, bemused. “You can certainly hate me, for all the good it will do you.”

Thor snarled. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had charged up the steps, fist drawn back, and in another second, it had collided with his father’s face. The golden eye patch was pulled away and his father twisted, but didn’t fall; Thor threw another punch in the hopes that he would, and Odin doubled over, but remained upright.

They stood in silence, Thor dropping his fist to his side, ignoring the dull ache in his knuckles, and Odin spit onto the floor, the stain bright red. He stood up, righting himself, and Thor focused intently on the hollow, eyeless socket in his father’s face as he began to speak.

“Asgard is no longer your home, Thor,” he said. “This realm no longer welcomes you.”

Thor had nothing to say. _He’s afraid of me,_ he thought sadly. _He’s afraid of what I know, of what I could say._

“Gather your things and leave before sundown.”

 

\---

 

Loki pulled the wooden door to the keep shut, and then turned out to face Nornheim.

He couldn’t return to Asgard, at least, not yet, maybe not ever, not until these matters were permanently settled. Perhaps that would be never, perhaps he would never see Thor or his friends again, perhaps he would be doomed to wander the other realms, alone in hostile environments. Though, when he considered it, it wasn’t such a bad fate, really.

A sad smile crossed his face as he pondered Thor. What was his brother doing now? Surely he was awake, had found the note. Was Thor angry, or in the midst of packing in a rash plan to find Loki? Was he trying to bury his sorrows in another distraction? Or was he relieved that this unasked for burden was gone?

Whatever Thor was doing, Loki hoped he was happy.

The cloak was once more pulled tight over his shoulders, hood pulled up to conceal his face, and Loki set off, choosing a direction at random and beginning to walk.

 

\---

 

Thor did as he was told.

He returned to his rooms, sighed deeply when he realized that this might be the last time he would set foot in the chambers, the last time he would see his reflection in familiar black marble or toss something carelessly onto his shelves to be dealt with later. He fondly gazed over his possessions, wishing that things had been different, different for his father and his brother and himself.

But he couldn’t change the past.

Accepting his Odin sentence was surprisingly easy, but, when he thought on it, Asgard didn’t hold much for him anymore. He had friends here, yes, but his best friend, his brother, had left him and ordered Thor not to follow. He had already given up the throne, refusing to follow in the footsteps of his parents. There was nothing left for him here.

Yes, he decided, it was time to leave.

So Thor set to gathering what he would need. He put on his regal hauberk, with his cloak trailing behind him, then the rest of his armor, and his fine boots. Mjolnir rested at his side proudly, still the best gift his brother had ever given him, that _anyone_ had ever given him. For the rest of the things he would need, Thor found a leather pack, one of those he had used while camping, and into it went spare clothing, daggers and whetstones, and any other useful items he could barter or make use of. He would stop be the kitchens before he left, and what coin he had on hand went into a heavy purse that he fastened to his belt.

The bag was nearly full when he spotted Magni on the dresser.

It was just a doll, a child’s toy, yet Thor picked it up, running a blunt fingertip along the arm that had been broken, noting the way it’d been fixed, the care Loki had put into repairing it. Then Thor carefully tucked Magni in amidst his other items, wrapping it in a piece of cloth to protect it. Loki was lost to him, but Thor could still remember him through the things they had shared.

When the bag was near to bursting, Thor closed it, fastening the straps, and slung it over his shoulder. It wasn’t sundown yet, not nearly so, but there was no reason to linger. The servants in the kitchen eyed him curiously, but packed a bag of food as he requested. He thanked them with a smile, and headed for the main hall, intending to leave as quickly as possible.

But his plans were halted when he stepped inside, for there, waiting for him in the hall, were Sif, Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg.

“Thor?” Sif said, taking his appearance in, noting his pack and the way he was dressed. He could see the panic in her eyes, in her face, in all of their faces, and it twisted his stomach a bit to find his friends so worried. “Thor, what’s going on? Loki’s gone and now there’s talk that you’re in _exile_ —”

“I am,” he answered flatly.

“Thor, what’s happened? We can fix this. We can talk to the All-Father; he’ll listen to reason. And then we can go and find Loki—”

“No, Sif.”

“Why not?”

Thor sighed and shrugged his shoulders to resettle his pack. “It can’t be fixed.”

“Surely there must be something we can do,” Volstagg said.

“There’s nothing, but thank you, my friend.” Thor smiled sadly at him, and Volstagg shook his head.

Sif shook her head, refusing to accept it. “Thor, don’t go. There has to be a way, there’s _always_ a way—”

“Not this time.” He put a hand on her shoulder to calm her, and she glanced at it before looking up at him. Thor met her gaze, and then those of his other friends. “I do have one favor to ask.”

“Of course.”

“Anything.”

“Look after Baldr for me. Be his friends, keep him safe since I cannot.”

“We will,” Volstagg assured him.

“You have our word,” Sif vowed.

“Thank you.” If that was to be his last act as a prince of Asgard, keeping his baby brother safe from their monster of a father, then at least it was a worthy act. He squeezed Sif’s shoulder. “I will miss you, my friends.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered. “First Loki’s gone and now you and no one will tell us anything and I don’t want you to leave.”

Thor swallowed thickly. “I know, Sif. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you, I really do.” Her eyes pleaded with him, begged him to divulge something, but Thor knew he couldn’t, that doing so would only complicate matters further. They locked eyes for a moment, and there were tears in Sif’s eyes, ones that she was too afraid to shed.

Carefully, he folded his arms around her, and he felt he grasp him back, her face pressed against his hauberk. “Be safe, Thor,” she whispered.

“I will,” he murmured.

Volstagg and Hogun both acknowledged him with quick embraces, and Thor could see their disbelief at the situation. It was surreal—Thor would have never thought he would be exiled, let alone that he would willingly accept such a punishment. Yet he had no regrets as he rode out to Heimdall’s observatory on the Bifrost.

That wasn’t completely true, he amended. He did have one regret, and that one regret was not committing regicide in the throne room.

He dismounted, slapping his horse to send it back to the stables, and then, pack in hand, walked toward the gleaming, golden Observatory. Heimdall waited outside, hands resting on his greatsword, his face pained and saddened.

“My lord,” he said when Thor approached.

“Good Heimdall.” Thor’s smile was weak and tired.

“I…am sorry.”

Thor gave him an understanding look, and Heimdall picked up his sword and turned toward the Observatory, Thor following slowly behind him.

Heimdall paused as he stepped up to the pedestal on the interior, Thor ambling along behind him. “Where would you like to go, my lord?”

“I don’t know.” Thor looked up at the other man. “Where should I go?”

“That choice is yours.”

Thor thought for a moment. “Where would you go?”

Heimdall hesitated, his face contemplative. “Alfheim. Or perhaps Vanaheim.”

“Anywhere else?”

“Midgard, if I were desperate.”

“Midgard,” Thor mused. “Let’s go there.”

Heimdall, to his credit, did not question Thor’s decision. He merely slid his sword into the pedestal, watching Thor as they both waited for the Bifrost to activate. When everything drew into alignment, when the portal stood shimmering before him, Thor simply stared, blinking, breathing, and wondering. He turned back, looking back toward the gleaming city one last time, his home, beautiful and wonderful…with a cancer rotting its heart. He turned back to the portal.

“Thank you, Heimdall.”

“Be safe, my lord.”

Thor stepped through without another word.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Sorry I haven't updated in...forever. I wrote a big bang and some porn and ran into a nasty bout of depression and coming back to this fic seemed like too much. But I did it!
> 
> I'm on tumblr now! You can find me at accursedspatula.tumblr.com. I don't post often, but there will be updates to my fics there and a more-current feed of what's going on in my life.
> 
> I want to thank the lovely Genue, who firstoff gave me fanart, and then retooled it when I asked for a print. Check her out if you haven't already at heartbrokengirlsketches.tumblr.com.
> 
> The art in question: http://heartbrokengirlsketches.tumblr.com/post/24247842533/suffer-the-children-its-all-about-thor-sitting

For the first time in his life, Loki felt free.  
  
It was exhilarating, to finally have no one controlling where he went, how long he stayed, or what he did, and the only other time he had even come close to feeling so liberated was when Thor had taken him on their trip.  
  
With this freedom, however, came an almost paralyzing fear. Loki had never been one for decisiveness; he had typically let Thor lead, and been more than willing to follow whatever plan his brother had concocted. Sometimes Thor had been short on his foresight, and Loki had been forced to use his cunning to get them out of a situation, but for the most part, Thor had been a good leader.  
  
But now, Loki was without his brother and his guidance and counsel, fleeing the only realm he’d ever truly known. He wanted nothing more to do with Asgard, could happily watch it burn, provided that those he cared for were safe. There had been so little here for him in the first place, and now there was nothing left, so Loki decided to leave. There were other realms, many of them, where he could shed his former identity and start anew.   
  


—-

  
For some time, he simply traveled.  
  
He had no real destination, no realm that he yearned to see above the others, and for a while he lingered in the far reaches of Svartalfheim, still hidden from Heimdall’s eyes. The Aesir would have no reason to come for him except to kill him, and that would be a quick, hidden affair, one designed to protect their king’s secret.   
  
Loki knew enough to hunt, using his conjured daggers and magicks to find and kill prey, but butchering his kills was still a difficult affair. Once, when he was elbow-deep in the carcass of a small deer, Loki had broken down, questioning what he was doing, why he had chosen to go this way, and in that instant, he missed Thor, missed the brother who would have comforted him and finished this task for him.  
  
But he was alone out here.  
  
This was not the life he had wanted, living alone in the wilderness like some crazed hermit, his only contact with society being the occasional traveler who stumbled down the forest paths. He was desperate and lonesome, and his isolation made it all the easier for his thoughts to wander to dark places.   
  
He decided to head back into civilization, find a spot perhaps in Alfheim or Vanaheim, a place where he could truly live, not just exist. After his things were packed, he found a well-worn road and began to walk, arbitrarily picking a direction.  
  


—-

  
On the second day, he met the giant and his horse.  
  
He had first seen them on the horizon, a few small dots that quickly resolved into the figures of a giant, his horse, and their cart of tools. Loki had pulled his hood over his head, confident that he could defend himself against one giant, and walked with them.  
  
The giant, as he explained to Loki, was heading to Asgard, to build a wall around it by request of the All-Father. His horse would be able to help him, using his prodigious strength to haul stones and mortar for him. Loki had nodded, realizing that they were walking toward Asgard, walking toward the source of his problems. He didn’t want the giant to reach Asgard, didn’t want him to build his wall; he wanted the city open, exposed, lying vulnerable for any brave enough to attack her.  
  
The horse, however, he liked. Horses were quiet, understanding, and Loki had always enjoyed being around them. They were loyal, hard-working animals, and they lacked the irksome energy and neediness of dogs. And this horse, Svadilfari, was perhaps the most handsome horse Loki had seen. Tall, broad, muscular—a horse fit for a king, he thought, picturing his brother atop him.  
  
Loki wanted to stop the giant, but didn’t want to draw attention to himself by harming him, or by harming Svalidfari. So, in the dead of night, Loki hid his things and shifted forms to that of a beautiful, white mare, and enticed the stallion away.   
  


—-

  
Svadilfari loved to run.  
  
As a horse, Loki shared that feeling, loved the sensation of wind rushing past him, the ache of his muscles, the way the ground flew by underneath him. He felt as if he could run forever. The only thing more exhilarating was flight, and that was often far more dangerous. Together they ran for miles from the builder, and each time Loki stopped Svadilfari would nudge him, encouraging him to keep running until they could go no farther.  
  
When they finally stopped, in a thicket, Loki thought it would be apropos to return to his real form, to slap Svadilfari and send him off, telling him to run and keep going. But Svadilfari turned and nipped him, lightly, on the neck, an unmistakable gesture of tenderness and affection, something he was sorely unaccustomed to.  
  
Loki stayed as a mare the whole night.  
  


—-

  
When he woke to the sun shining in his face, and Svadilfari pacing next to him, Loki expected to have returned to his Aesir shape. Such things happened when he slept—when his concentration was broken, the spell lost.  
  
But as he came to, he realized, terrifyingly, that he was still a mare.  
  
Panicked, he tried to shift back, but found that he couldn’t, that he was stuck, and he wondered if he’d somehow botched the spell. No, he was certain he hadn’t—there was just something preventing him from changing back. Fear made his head spin as he realized just what that something was.  
  
Loki wanted to weep. He was trapped in this body, with child, miles away from civilization, with a horse for company. No. This wasn’t how things should have gone at all.  
  


—-

  
He spent the next year as a mare.  
  
Horses, because they were large, had long gestation times; Loki remembered reading that in the libraries, in books on animal husbandry and care of livestock. He knew the basics, how the mother would gain weight to feed the child, how the labor should proceed, but it was hard to concentrate and use the knowledge when it was usually drowned out by fear and shame.  
  
At least no one knew that a former prince of Asgard was nothing more than a dumb, pregnant animal.  
  
Svadilfari stayed with him for a long while, and Loki supposed he was the best company he could have, given the situation. If he were to return to Asgard, no one would recognize him and he had no way of communicating—he could walk up to Thor and nuzzle his brother and Thor would never be the wiser.   
  
The foal grew inside him, kicking and turning at times, and Loki found the sensations disturbing and nearly unbearable. He didn’t know how women did this, how they endured it, how some of them even anticipated and enjoyed it. To him, it was just undeniable proof of something he wanted gone, wanted out of his body, and a reminder of how long it would take to do so.  
  
Eventually, Svadilfari left, and Loki knew he wouldn’t return to the builder. But now he was alone, pregnant and vulnerable, and he thanked the norns that the foal was almost due.   
  
The birth itself was painful, if relatively quick. Loki was alarmed at all the blood, wondering if he and the foal would survive, if something had gone wrong, but when the foal slipped softly onto the grass behind him, Loki felt that things would be okay. He had shifted back then, thinking that it was over, that now that the foal was out of him his responsibilities were through, and a blood-coated, tired, naked Loki, back in his Aesir form, had finally turned to see what he had borne.  
  
The foal was struggling to stand, and the first thing Loki noted were the legs. Where it should have had four, it had eight. His first instinct was to recoil in horror from the abomination he’d birthed, but he stood, frozen in place as he watched the foal struggle to its feet. After a few moments, the foal managed to stand, taking a few, tottering steps towards him. It nudged his hip, clearly as exhausted as Loki was, and looking up at him with huge, dark eyes. It was then Loki realized that he was its mother. He was the only one who would protect this foal, who would help it survive its infancy, and all Loki wanted to do was leave and be free of such a task.  
  
Loki, exhausted and reluctant, turned back into a mare.  
  


—-

  
He decided to name the foal Sleipnir.  
  
Sleipnir (a little boy, as Loki quickly discovered) grew rapidly, and doted on his mother, in whatever form Loki wore. Sometimes, he had to shift back to an Aesir when another creature threatened them, but for the most part, he remained as a mare, in order to comfort and nurse his child.   
  
Sleipnir proved to be a quick-witted, energetic horse, and Loki spent more than a year with him. The foal was weaned after a few months, but Loki remained with him, teaching him the world. After Sleipnir was weaned, however, Loki spent more time as an Aesir, even breaking Sleipnir to ride and getting him used to having a passenger on his back.  
  
When the horse was almost fully grown, was smart and capable and had proved to be one fit for a king—just like his father, Loki mused—Loki took him to the edge of Asgard, to where they could see the city proper.  
  
This was a horse for Thor, Loki knew. Out of his shame again would be a great gift for his brother, one that Thor would appreciate and treasure like he always did. They stood at the edge for a long while, Loki petting Sleipnir’s mane and occasionally pulling a knot from it, thinking about Thor, and praying his brother was still safe.   
  
“Go,” he told the foal. “Find Thor. Find my brother. He will take good care of you.” There was no guarantee that Sleipnir would end up in Thor’s care, but he would be far safer in Asgard than anywhere else. The Aesir were always kind to their horses.  
  
He sent Sleipnir into the city with a final hard smack on his haunch, encouraging him to run, knowing he would be safe in Thor’s care.  
  


—-

  
Loki went next to Jotunheim.  
  
He wasn’t sure why he went, perhaps overwhelmed after his life with Sleipnir by the feeling that he was neither Aesir nor Vanir nor any high-born race, that he was a monster. Or perhaps he was driven in part by curiosity to see what his people were truly like. Were they truly the demons he had heard of in stories?  
  
Or were those all lies, too?  
  
He was careful to never let Heimdall see him, not once as he travelled through the backways of the cosmos, finally coming to set foot on a snowy bank in Jotunheim. The world around him was bleak and desolate, wind-shaped white drifts, dark black rocks and mountains creating a stark contrast. All of it made Loki feel weary and depressed, and he wondered if he should turn back, leave and go somewhere else before he could confront his true heritage.  
  
But something pushed him on, and Loki found himself trudging through knee-deep snow. He hunched deeper into his cloak, but found that after some time the cold no longer registered with him, and for a moment he wondered if he was in the first stages of hypothermia, if he had wandered to Jotunheim simply to die. As he wound his cloak tighter around himself, he caught sight of his hands—blue, bright blue, the same blue they had turned when he had touched the Casket, and Loki stifled a cry before realizing that this was normal, that it would let him pass undetected among the jotnar.  
  
Eventually, he reached civilization, if it could even be called such. The jotnar fascinated him—so tall and powerful, Loki realized they would have dwarfed any Aesir, even his brother. But they paid him no mind, milling and walking past him, occasionally stopping to stare at his minute stature. Going unnoticed was novel to him—he had never before been able to feel like a commoner.  
  
Perhaps this desolate wasteland was where he had belonged all along.  
  


—-

  
In Jotunheim, the nightmares returned to him.  
  
They had been infrequent when he was living in the wilds, for survival took precedence over contemplation, and Loki would often fall exhausted into a dreamless sleep. Occasionally his thoughts would drift back, but worry for Thor and his friends would quickly overshadow his past anxieties. He told himself that they were nothing more than dreams. Loki was free now, he knew that. No one would ever hurt him again.  
  
But something about being back among others, about returning to civilization and regular sentient contact seemed to bring everything back to the fore. Granted, considering how they had been in Asgard, they were few and far between, but he still woke sobbing from nightmares, twisted in his furs, convinced for a breif, heart-stopping moment that he was still be a small boy and trapped in the middle of his torture. And now, there was no Thor, no steadfast comfort in his life to calm him, other than the fact that he was realms away, in a land where no one knew who he truly was.  
  
He knew he would always carry these memories, that gradually they would fade, like scars, but they would always be a part of him, a part he could never escape.   
  


—-

  
It was on Jotunheim that Loki first met Angrboda.  
  
He wasn’t sure how long he had been living there—months? years?—when he first met her, but it was long enough that he had managed to set up a comfortable living, yet short enough that he had never been fully acclimated. She captivated him instantly. He had never really looked at women before—he knew what they looked like anatomically, but he had never thought about being attracted to one until he met her.  
  
She didn’t shie away from him, for no longer was he the odd, brooding prince. On Jotunheim, he was simply another person, a commoner, short and small, like her. They grew close, Angrboda showing him things of jotnar culture, landmarks, teaching him how to survive in such an inhospitable land when it was revealed his own skills were woefully deficient. She delighted in his magicks—no one on Jotunheim possessed remotely the talent he had, and he used it to amuse her by shifting into all sorts of various creatures.  
  
It was Angrboda who chased the shame he felt for his blue skin from him, who told him that his ruby eyes were beautiful. It was Angrboda who showed him that the jotnar weren’t all monsters.  
  
When she first kissed him, there had been that same hot stab of pleasure that he’d experienced with Thor. And suddenly the fire had been lit, and to Loki, Angrboda was beautiful. He wanted all of her, wanted to kiss and touch and explore, and they did, by moonlight. She was slow and gentle with him, never pushing too hard, never fretting when he flinched away from her touch, never asking about the scars.  
  
She was the first person that Loki didn’t feel ashamed for lying with.  
  


—-

  
When Angrboda told him she was with child, he reacted with mixed feelings.  
  
Of course he loved her—he loved her more than anyone at this point. It was different than how he loved Thor; that, he supposed would be eternal, but with Angrboda there was passion. Yet the prophecy of the Norns hung all too fresh in his mind, and he was worried that he would live up to his role.  
  
Whatever his feelings were, the child came regardless. She was born half black and half white, half dead in Loki’s opinion, but they loved her anyway. She was theirs and that was what mattered to them.  
  
Their second child was a wolf, and then Loki knew just how truthfully Skuld had spoken to him. He could tell that Angrboda was disturbed. Even though there daughter was far from normal, at least she wasn't a beast. Loki held her each time she cried and he cursed himself. None of the blame was Angrboda's. She was beautiful and fair, and she had never been scarred as he had.   
  
When the snake was born, Loki couldn’t bring himself to love it. He knew that Odin would come for it, would come for them, and so he convinced Angrboda to run, to leave their brood behind. It was easy to part her from the snake and the wolf, but she clung to little Hela, and severing that bond was one of the hardest things Loki had ever had to do. And when the Aesir came, when they took their children away and sent Hela to the underworld and bound Fenrir he mourned for them. But when they cast Jormungand into the seas, Loki realized that if they had not done it, he would have.  
  
After their children were taken, Angrboda was listless, mournful and agitated unreachable to Loki. They couldn’t stay together any longer; there was too much sorrow between them now. When they parted, he told her he would always love her, for he knew a part of him would. Angrboda had been his first real love. She had kissed him back, told him that he was a fine man, destined for great things, and that she would always love him, too.  
  


—-

  
Without Angrboda, Loki was lost.  
  
He wandered about Jotunheim for some time, and it was then that he met Laufey for the only time in his life. He’d been invited to the palace as a magician, to demonstrate his talents, and Loki wondered how he would feel when he saw the man who’d left him to die as a child and condemned him to a life of torture.   
  
Laufey was like any other jotun. Tall, broad shouldered, blue-skinned, bearing the raised markings that all the jotnar did. He wore no crown, no fine robes, no kingly armor, and Loki wondered why he did not celebrate his status, if perhaps to do so was custom only among the Aesir and the Vanir. For a few moments, all he could do was stare at Laufey, stare at his sire and wonder what life would have been like if he had grown up here, a runt who relied on magicks rather than the physical strength that the jotnar admired.  
  
Laufey had two other sons, Byleistr and Helblindi, and Loki greeted them warmly. Helblindi would assume the throne after his father died; he was the heir, the crown prince, like Thor had been. And like Thor, he doted on his brother, held his hand while they watched Loki work magicks and transformations, showed them tricks of every variety.   
  
It was because of Helblindi that Loki had been no longer needed for Odin’s plan, but he bore no resentment to this boy. It wasn’t his fault.  
  
Laufey, he knew, did not recognize him. He did not remember Loki as the tiny bastard son he had put out to die, as the one they thought would not survive his infancy. Instead, he regarded him as just a court magician, and Loki would have had it no other way.  
  


—-

  
When Jotunheim held no more wonder for him, Loki left.  
  
Angrboda was gone, and since Loki had no intention of telling Laufey who he was, what more did he have there? So Loki gathered what things he wanted to keep and left again.   
  
This time, he decided to go to Alfheim.   
  
He reverted back to his Aesir form once more, but none of the people there recognized him. It had been too many years, he realized. He wasn’t the Loki they would have remembered—his hair was longer now, curling to reach the tops of his shoulders, his face had hardened, no longer the frightened, wide-eyed expression of his youth. But now that he was back among the higher born, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might see Thor, might hear of his dealings and be tempted to see him.  
  
Eventually, the curiosity grew to be too much, and he casually asked some merchants in the market. They had laughed, asked him where he had been for the past century, and then told him, with great amusement, that the crown prince of Asgard had been banished over a hundred years ago, thrown out on charges of treason and attempted regicide.  
  
Loki acted like he had known this, scoffing outwardly, but he couldn’t help the thought of Thor, you fool that raced through his mind. He bid the men good day and strode away, trying to mask the worry on his face, worry for the brother in exile, worry for what had happened to the eight-legged son he had sent riding into Asgard.  
  
Again he went to Nornheim. This time he sought not Skuld, but Uld, for he wanted to know the past, not what was to come. She was kinder, her face weathered, eyes soft, and she regarded him with a silent sympathy, squeezing his hand when he asked to know of what happened to his brother.  
  
She showed him the loom, the weaving upon it, and beckoned him to touch, showing him which thread belonged to Thor. Loki did, Skuld and Verdandi watching him carefully as he looped it around his finger, Verdandi never letting go as she continued to weave it while Loki peered into his brother’s past.  
  
He saw Thor argue with his father, saw him strike the old man, saw him march almost proudly out to the Bifrost. He saw Thor arrive on Midgard, his attempts to adapt to a society he had not seen for thousands of years. He saw his valiant efforts in a fight that nearly destroyed a city, saw how his brother fought to save a people that he was not a part of.  
  
And then he watched as Thor became a hero once more. He made new friends—one tall and blond, like him, one shorter with dark hair, a woman with locks like red silk, an archer who never missed, and a seemingly gentle man who harbored the rage of a beast inside. These people reminded Thor—reminded Loki—of old times, and for the first time in what Loki knew were years, Thor seemed happy.  
  
But these people were mortal, and Thor was not. Eventually, they grew old and gray and frail, replaced by younger counterparts, until the original ones passed away, one by one. Thor attended each of their funerals, looking strikingly out of place amidst a crowd of increasingly weathered and worn faces. He was still so youthful by comparison, so tall and strong—how did he stay so without the apples from Idunn’s orchard?  
  
After each of them passed away, Thor had compensated by spending more and more time with the blond man. Loki noted, as he followed Thor’s thread, that the man seemed to age slower than the others. Time still touched him, but its spread was slowed. The only conclusion he could draw was that Thor did have a way to get the apples and that he cared enough for his companion to share them with him. The way that Thor cared was painfully obvious when the blond man at last died himself, and Thor stood devastated at his graveside, grief etched clearly on his features.  
  
After that, with no one left to turn to, he departed Midgard. He wandered, in search of what Loki couldn’t tell, but his wandering eventually brought him to Vanaheim, where Loki knew he must still be, it being the closest to home he could still get. He could find him, he thought wildly. He could find Thor, find his brother and apologize for leaving him, he could tell him the stories of Angrboda and Laufey and listen to what feats Thor had accomplished on Midgard, and they could be brothers once more, brothers realms away from a home that no longer welcomed them.  
  
No, Loki realized, thinking of Jormungand lying in the deep, I can’t.  
  


—-

  
So Loki remained in Alfheim.   
  
His knowledge and skills allowed him to find employment in the libraries, cataloguing and translating for the scholars there, though he carefully concealed all hints of his magic. Such a talented male mage would only draw attention to himself, and the last thing Loki wanted to do was give people a reason to look twice at him. The scholars paid him well, for he knew many dead tongues and provided them with translations that would have been difficult to come by otherwise, and Loki managed to set up a rather comfortable life.  
  
He bought himself a nice house, large for just one person, and slowly filled it with books and trinkets, furniture and ornaments collected from all the realms, bought at the marketplace. At night, he would practice his seidr, to make sure that he never lost the skills he had labored over for many years.   
  
For a time, he had no real complaints. Certainly, there were still nightmares to contend with, ones that pulled him from sleep screaming and shaking, and by now Loki supposed he would always have those, although their frequency was diminishing again. But what was almost more crushing than the nightmares was waking up with no one to comfort him—no Thor, no Angrboda, no one at his side. Most days, the solitude didn’t bother him; Loki had always been a solitary creature. But at times like these, curled up in his bed alone, he wished for companionship above all else.  
  
It was then that he would think of Angrboda, wonder where she was now and how she fared after the loss of their children. Did she still mourn them? Did she miss Loki as he missed her? His thoughts would inevitably drift further back, to Thor; where was his brother and what he was doing? Did he remain on Alfheim? Did he miss his mortal lover, or had he found a new one to help ease the loss of the last?  
  
Did Thor miss him?  
  
But he couldn’t find the answers to his questions. This was the way things had to be, he told himself. This was the hand life had dealt him, the path he had been set on, and he would walk it to the very end.  
  


—-

  
Time passed and things settled down, like they had in Jotunheim.  
  
Loki had come to terms with living a life alone, fearing that he would sire more monsters if he took another lover. He considered looking for a man—after all, he had been so inclined before—but since Angrboda, men failed to excite or arouse him. He wondered if it had simply been a response to what was done to him, if perhaps he had been more normal than he thought all along, and that that strange attraction had been forced upon him.  
  
He hadn’t thought on Thor with desire in his heart in centuries, and Angrboda had long faded from his immediate thoughts. But every so often, a pretty girl at the market or in the libraries would catch his eye, perhaps smile at him, and Loki would feel lust flare in his heart. Yet for a long, long time, he resolved himself to never take a lover.   
  
It was by chance that he met Sigyn. She was a diplomat’s daughter, Vanir, well-educated and very, very fair. Loki had sucked in a quick breath when she had first returned his gaze in the marketplace, sneaking a glance or two at him as she and her father purveyed fine jewels laid out on velvet. He hadn’t had the courage at the time to introduce himself, instead gathering up his books and scrolls and hurrying from the market like it was on fire.  
  
But she came back, every day, looking at the same jewels (much to the vendor’s chagrin), until Loki finally walked over.  
  
He took to her instantly. Not only was she beautiful, with long, soft brown hair and wide gray eyes, and a slender, delicate frame much like his own, but she was intelligent, versed in history and magic and languages, zoology and botany—any and all important subjects had been studied by her at one point. Loki had finally met a mind to challenge his, and Sigyn frequently visited him at the libraries, citing “diplomatic affairs.” They would find some dusty old corner and sit, holed up with a stack of books beside them, reading and chatting and sneaking glances at one another.  
  
Some days Sigyn liked to sit next to him, and he would take her hand as they turned pages together. A few times, she sat curled in his lap and he read to her, enjoying her warm weight, her presence. She felt right in his arms, in a way that Angrboda never had.   
  
They eventually ventured out of the libraries, spending time together as they explored, and it became apparent that Loki was courting Sigyn. They limited themselves to chaste kisses and quick embraces in public, for Sigyn was, to the eyes of the rest of the world, a noble. Loki did not want to ruin her honor if their relationship fell through; more than anything, he wanted Sigyn to be happy.   
  
But in private, they were free to indulge their desires. At first, Loki focused solely on Sigyn’s pleasure, ashamed of his own body, and he tried to keep as much clothing on as possible when they made love. He didn’t want Sigyn to see the scars, to inquire about them or, worse yet, be disgusted by them.   
  
She grew insistent after a while, wanting to touch and reciprocate what Loki did for her, and he finally, ashamedly, allowed her to see him nude. The scars were still there, though they had faded a great deal, only a few still pink and raised. Sigyn sucked in a quick breath, surveying them, and Loki reached for his clothes, face turned away from her as he prepared to flee.  
  
Sigyn grabbed his wrist, had held fast even when he tugged and protested, and said one thing.  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
Loki swallowed grimly, and for the second time in his life, he recounted his story.   
  
He told her of being raised in Asgard, of how he had learned his true parentage, of the rape and abuse and suffering. He told her of Thor, of how his brother had been the one good thing Loki had clung to, and how he had thought Thor lost for a long time. He told her how Thor had been the one to help him, or at least try to. And then he told her of the prophecy, one she was aware of (for such a prophecy had been spread far and wide to slander Loki’s name), and he told her of the Norns.  
  
He told her of how he had fled Asgard, of how Thor had been banished—those things she already knew, of course. He told her of Sleipnir, of Jotunheim and Angrboda, of his monstrous children, imprisoned by the Aesir. He told her of his bitter hatred for Jormungand, of how he had been happy the day the Aesir took him, of how he hoped that no harm would ever come to Thor.  
  
And through all of it, Sigyn listened, quiet, patient, holding his hand when he trembled, waiting for him to sort his thoughts when they overwhelmed him. She didn’t flinch away when he showed her his true form, when he told her that he was a monster, a liar and an imposter. Instead, she had pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “My prince.”  
  
It was then that Loki knew he would always love her. She had kissed his scars like they were beautiful. When they made love, she held him and stroked his hair and used his real name, not the alias he’d hidden behind for so many centuries.  
  
She told him she loved him.  
  
When they dressed, she stopped him as he buckled his doublet.   
  
“Your brother,” she said. “He lives in Vanaheim. Disgraced, but still tolerated. You could...could see him if you liked. It would be easy for my father to arrange such a thing.”  
  
“No,” Loki had whispered. “I can’t see him. Never again.”  
  
“Never?”  
  
He shook his head. “Not until...until things are certain. Not until the threads are woven.”  
  


—-

  
A part of Loki still expected Sigyn to push him away after, to abandon him now that she knew he was broken inside, but she stayed with him. She didn’t try to coddle him or turn him into some small, helpless creature that she had to tend to. Rather, she treated him no different, and was understanding when he tried to hide his body from her, when he would stand stock-still, eyes blank, lost in his thoughts, when he would wake trembling and shaking and cling to her like she was the only thing that mattered.  
  
Armed with such support, Loki continued to court her, despite the discouraging attitudes of those around them. He was beneath Sigyn, he knew that; no longer was he a prince of Asgard and there was far too large of a gap between their statuses. Sigyn would not be permitted to marry down to his rank.   
  
For a time, they considered eloping, but Loki talked her out of it. To do so would surely ruin Sigyn’s chances with any future suitor should she and Loki part ways. Instead they waited, until Loki was put in charge of the library as a full-fledged scholar in Alfheim. His knowledge of magic, revealed in private, impressed Sigyn’s father, as the Vanir had always been more receptive to the ability to weild magicks, unlike the Aesir. Even Sigyn had asked to learn some of his techniques, and he had been more than happy to teach her.  
  
Their wedding was a beautiful spectacle to behold. Sigyn was radiant in her fine dress, wearing beautiful jewels that glittered in the warm sun. They had even been woven into her hair, little gems that caught the light every time she turned, and Loki was enthralled by her beauty. He felt so unworthy of her at times—she was beautiful, charming, educated and compassionate, and what was he? A broken shell of an exiled prince.  
  
But she had chosen him, out of all the others. Out of all the fine suitors she had had—nobles, thanes, princes—she had picked him.  
  
Sigyn had asked if he had wanted to invite Thor. Of course Loki did, but he knew that he couldn’t. Thor was disgraced; the only people who paid him any mind were those who were enemies of Asgard, seeking to ally themselves with someone who was just as disgruntled as they were. To invite him would have reflected poorly on them, and furthermore raised troublesome questions, so Loki declined.  
  
But looking at Sigyn, with all of her jewels and her splendor, on his wedding day, Loki couldn’t help but wish that Thor was there to share the moment with him.  
  


—-

  
Loki enjoyed married life.  
  
There had been the feasts at the celebration of their marriage, and Loki had doted so openly on Sigyn in public that he had won over the last few souls who disapproved of their match. He loved her; that was clear for all to see.   
  
He didn’t expect Sigyn to stay home, to remain unseen unless he was at her side now that they were married. Often times he took her to the libraries with him, and if he didn’t, he insisted upon bringing her a small present when he arrived home. He liked to bestow gifts upon her, from jewels to dresses to books or whatever else she fancied. In his opinion, Sigyn was too great a woman to be denied anything.  
  
They traveled together as well. Sigyn had seen most of the sights of Vanaheim and Alfheim, but Loki had not, and she delighted in showing them to him. Loki loved it, loved those trips, just the two of them, occasionally accompanied by friends.  
  
And for a time, things were perfect.  
  


—-

  
He knew Sigyn was reluctant to ask him about a child.  
  
She knew what had become of his other children, how he feared that he could sire nothing but monstrosities. “And I would not burden you with them, not now, not ever,” Loki had sworn, but Sigyn brushed off his comments.  
  
“I love you,” she said. “All of you. And I want to have a child with you.”  
  
Loki had resisted. Sigyn hadn’t pressed him about it again, not until he was ready to talk.  
  
“I want a child, too,” he told her. “You are my treasure, and I love you beyond all things. And I have...have no desire to ruin that.”  
  
“We won’t,” she had reassured.  
  
Loki often wondered what he had done to deserve her. It was petty to think of Sigyn as repayment for a life of suffering, but at times like that it was hard not to. Sigyn was his. She loved him, loved him enough to look past his faults and his fears, loved him enough to want a child with him. So he pushed his fears and worries aside and gave her what she wanted so badly, praying it wouldn’t end in disaster.  
  
He tried to ease the worries from her mind as well. Instead of fearing for their unborn child, he tended to its mother. Late at night, he would lay next to Sigyn, would place his hand on the small swell of her belly and wish only good things for their child. Did Thor have children? he wondered. Had he moved on since his male lover on Midgard? Or would his brother die childless and alone?  
  
If things had been different, would their sons have played on the back grounds of the palace together, as they had when they were children?  
  
Sigyn’s belly grew, and so did her excitement. Loki liked to feel their child kick, liked to feel the life beneath Sigyn’s flesh and know that it was a joining of them, hoping and praying it had only received his good traits. He knew any traits it would inherit from Sigyn would be good ones.  
  
Watching her in labor was one of the most painful experiences of his life. He loved her, and never wanted to witness her in pain, and he felt utterly useless and helpless at her side, merely able to hold her hand and kiss her brow. She was suffering to bring their child into the world, suffering because she loved him, and Loki was afraid that she would never be able to forgive him for the pain.  
  
But when their son was placed in her arms, a small, red-faced, crying bundle, she wept with joy. And so had Loki, staring at their son, their perfectly normal son.  
  


—-

  
They named him Vali.  
  
Vali was strong and healthy, and he grew quickly. Loki doted on the boy while Sigyn took time to recover, and then she had nursed and cared for him when Loki returned to his normal routine, joining them in the evenings when his duties at the library were through. He would take their child and let Sigyn rest, cradling their small son and walking him through the house. Often he would tell Vali tales of old, tales of Thor’s conquests, of his mother’s wisdom, and of his father’s adventures.   
  
He wanted Thor to meet his son. Perhaps someday, when Vali was grown, they would take a trip in disguise and visit Vanaheim.  
  
Soon Vali was sitting on his own, and then he was tottering around on short legs. He liked to run away from them when they chased him, screaming gleefully until he was caught. Sigyn and Loki loved to spoil him, loved to take him anywhere and everywhere, loved to play with him and spend time with him. This is how a father is supposed to treat his son, Loki thought. Not the way he had been treated, by either of his fathers.  
  
Vali also loved to be read to. From an early age, his eyes pored over the pictures in the books as they read to him. He spoke early, and it was clear to his parents that he would be smart, that his intelligence would take him far. But Vali lost interest in things once they failed to stimulate him, and thinking of his own childhood before it had gone so wrong, they decided he should have a sibling.  
  
A year later, Narfi was born.   
  
The new baby fascinated Vali. He would follow Loki and Sigyn around the nursery, waiting patiently for them to let him hold Narfi as well, two small hands carefully and tenderly grasping the newborn.  
  
When Vali learned to read, he would sit near the crib and read to his younger brother. Even as they grew older, as Narfi learned to speak and walk himself, he would still come to Vali with a book in hand.   
  
Narfi, however, did not share his brother’s love of books as deeply. He liked to be outside, liked to totter around in the grass until he fell down, exhausted. He liked animals, especially, and when both boys were old enough, Loki bought them a puppy to take care of. Vali had tried to train the dog, having read books on it and believing himself capable, but he grew frustrated and gave up quickly when it didn’t go according to his texts. It was Narfi who had the patience, who had the touch, to train the animal, and although he would listen to other members of the household, it was clear that he preferred the younger boy.  
  
Loki bought Vali a cat instead.  
  
Every day, Loki would come home from the library (often with Vali in tow), and he would always be stunned at the family he had waiting for him. It felt like a dream, one that was too good, one that was bound to end and one that Loki never wanted to.  
  


—-

  
His sons were still small when Sigyn told him of the All-Father’s coming.  
  
Odin was heading to Alfheim on diplomatic business. Her father had been summoned, too, and that was how she knew. Vali and Narfi had been scampering about after the dog when she had taken Loki aside.  
  
“I think perhaps we should take a trip to Vanaheim?” she suggested. “The boys have never been, and the city will be so crowded with the summit.”  
  
“You should take them,” he said. “I...I have things to attend to, but I can meet you.”  
  
She understood. Sigyn was bright.  
  
“Be careful,” was all she said.  
  


—-

  
The boys, as expected, were reluctant to part with their father. They clung to his waist, the top of Vali’s head only reaching Loki’s hip, and after much coaxing, Sigyn had finally pried them off. They were the same with her—if she left, they clung to her and begged her not to go. Loki was usually amused at the sight, but now, with his purpose in mind, all he felt was fear for his family.  
  
With them gone, safely on their way to Vanaheim, the house was empty, hauntingly so, and it made it too easy to entertain the fantasy that his life, all that he had worked so hard for, would be taken away.  
  
It wouldn’t be, Loki knew. He would be careful. He wouldn’t let that happen.  
  
But there were things to be settled, debts to be repaid.  
  


—-

  
Fenrir hadn’t seen his father in centuries.  
  
The wolf whimpered when Loki strode into view, pulling at the silk band that bound his feet. Fenrir, after all this, still recognized Loki, even though his hair was longer, no longer always swept back, and his face was older, his eyes softer. Fenrir was desperate and lonely, and for a long while Loki merely petted him, stroked behind his ears and whispered apologies.   
  
And then, he cut Gleipnir, the band that bound Fenrir. It was magicked, made by the dwarves, but it’s creation was child’s play compared to what Loki knew, and severing it was a simple affair. Fenrir stretched his legs, eager to run, and he looked at Loki curiously.  
  
“It’s time for vengeance, my son,” Loki said. “Vengeance against those who bound us.”  
  
Fenrir dipped his head, allowing Loki to climb up onto his back, two hands gripping tightly to his fur. And then he had run.  
  


—-

  
It was a long, hard battle, but one that was worth it.  
  
By the end, all of Odin’s men lay dead, and the All-Father himself was wounded, propped up beneath a tree. He was grievously injured, his stomach sliced open, and Loki stood across the clearing from him, arms folded over his chest, not moving, just staring.  
  
Fenrir had done most of the work. The wolf was nigh invulnerable, and had laid down now to lick at his few wounds, waiting for his father to decide what to do. Loki had gone off after Sleipnir once the battle had been mostly won, finding his other son and calming him before leading him to the clearing while Fenrir kept watch.  
  
The grass was bloodied beneath his feet, and the corpses of men were strewn about. Fenrir had made easy work of the guards, aided by Loki and his magicks. They had ambushed them on their way into Alfheim, in a deserted patch of woods, with no witnesses for hundreds of miles.   
  
As Loki stared, he saw Gungnir lying in the grass. The All-Father’s precious weapon, given to him by his unfavored son, now bloody and cast aside. Loki approached it first, eyeing the old man who weakly returned his gaze.  
  
“Loki,” he said.  
  
“I’ll hear no plea for your life,” Loki replied as he knelt to pick up Gungnir. “You and I both know this ends here.”  
  
“I’ve known it for a long time.”  
  
“And you did what you did anyway,” Loki said, bitterly. “This death is too kind for you.”  
  
Silence stretched between them. Here it was, Loki mused, the day he had fantasized about for years, no, centuries—the old man weakened, dying, Loki above him, finally in control.   
  
“What would you have done, if it were Thor and not me?”  
  
“I would have done the same.”  
  
The naked confession sent a chill through Loki.   
  
“What would you have done?” he asked, and Loki blinked.  
  
“I have two sons,” he said coldly. “And I would never do what you did.” He tightened his grip on Gungnir. It felt right in his hand, a treasure he should have kept for himself.  
  
Odin’s head drooped a bit. Loki took a few steps closer.  
  
“Is this vengeance everything you wanted?” Odin asked wearily.  
  
“And more,” Loki said, shaking his head before he drove the spear through the soft part of Odin’s throat.  
  
When it was done, when the old man was lifeless and was dead and gone, Loki wrenched Gungnir free and dropped it. It was done. It was over. A lifetime of torment and suffering, culminating in a few dark minutes in a forest. Loki had often dreamed of the overwhelming peace this would bring him, the peace that would surely follow when Odin lay dead, either by his hand or other circumstances, but there were no overwhelming sensations. He felt…calm, no longer fueled by the anger and hatred that had sustained him for years. No, those had bled away when he left Asgard, when he found Angrboda and Sigyn, when Vali and Narfi had been born to him.   
  
Fenrir and Sleipnir, his other children, two of his monsters that loved him, that served him, were still there, Fenrir idly licking a paw and Sleipnir stamping the ground. Fenrir he would set free. The wolf looked up at him, huge amber eyes begging the question What next?   
  
“Your life is your own,” Loki said. “Do with it as you will.”  
  
Fenrir rose, shaking himself out. He nuzzled Loki, and Loki stepped forward, burying his face in his fur, savoring the scent. “Do you know of your brother?” he asked. “Of Jormungand?”  
  
The wolf lowered its gaze. Clearly, he did not. Loki stroked him, tweaked his ear playfully, and then said, “Go.” Fenrir licked the side of his face, tongue rough and warm, and then ran.  
  
Sleipnir waited for Loki to mount him. The horse’s excitement at being reunited with his mother was barely contained, and the moment Loki had settled himself in the saddle, they took off. Word of this would reach the realms soon, word of how the wolf had broken free and slain the All-Father, and Ragnarok would be expected. There was more he had yet to do.  
  
But for now, Loki just wanted to see his family.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic wasn't abandoned. Yes, it took me six months to write a chapter. But I was working full time over the summer, and then university started up again, and to be quite honest, writing this fic takes a lot out of me.
> 
> Much love to Moiraine, who labored over this beast of a chapter. I'm going to go play some Borderlands 2 and have Handsome Jack feels.

Midgard had changed.

 

Gone were the wooden structures he knew so well, the mead halls, tents, and temples, replaced instead by monoliths of stone and glass and steel. Forests had been cut and cleared away, dirt paths replaced by paved stone roadways, carriages and horse-carts no longer a sight on the streets.

 

It wasn’t even called Midgard anymore, as Thor quickly discovered. This was Earth, much altered since his last visit, and all of it was bewildering. Even his clothes didn’t match--the people here all dressed in such drab, muted colors, their capes and finery gone, just like their worship of the Aesir.

 

The people told him this place was Uppsala, but this was not the Uppsala that Thor knew. This was the year 1960 and there was no magnificent temple here. The familiar scents of storms and conifers and earth were gone, covered instead by the reek of tar and smoke. But as distressing as it was, these were things he would have to get used to now, unfamiliar and jarring as they were, and Thor assured himself that in time he would adjust. He had to.

 

This was Uppsala. This was home now.

 

There was no chance of returning to the humans as a god; the Aesir hadn’t been worshipped here in a widespread fashion in centuries, a direct result of their diminished visits to Earth. So Thor had done the only thing he could and passed himself off as human.

 

He bartered off some of what he had brought for money. That got him new clothes, food, and his first month’s rent in a place to live. The apartment was almost too small--one bedroom, a kitchenette, a cramped livign room, and an even tinier bath chamber, all connected by a short hallway. The appliances were the most confusing thing, with all their dials and knobs, but Thor mastered them eventually through trial and error. His remaining possessions were carefully placed around the apartment, his hauberk and cape and clothing hidden away in a cheap dresser, Mjolnir placed securely in his closet, and Magni set on the top shelf of a wooden bookcase. Knowing he had to find a way to survive in a world alien to what he knew, Thor picked an alias for himself and used it to get a job doing overnight maintenance work at the university in Uppsala, something that didn’t require more skill than he currently possessed.

 

\---

 

Thor quickly settled into a simple routine.

 

He worked, he came home, he cleaned his apartment, making sure to dust Magni on his shelf and make sure that Mjolnir was still well in her hiding place. He taught himself to cook, small things at first, and then more substantial meals. Cookbooks were a wonder, once he figured out how to use them and follow their recipes. He cut his hair in the Midgard fashion, short, and swept it back, and adopted their fashions of khaki pants and button up shirts. It was strange, but it helped him to feel a part of something instead of being a cast out.

 

The money from the job paid his rent, provided for food, clothing, and other essentials, with enough left over to allow him to purchase some luxuries. The first was a television, something that his coworkers and neighbors told him was a must-have. Thor bought one and used it to help fill his quiet evenings alone. It was those times that he would miss Loki the most. Loki would have loved this place, Thor knew, with its technology that seemed so akin to magic, science bridging distances ands creating wonders that not even the arcane arts could match. He would have loved the the architecture of the city and the buildings with its clean, sweeping lines. But most of all he would have loved the university, at this center dedicated purely to knowledge and learning, where those who attended were lauded for their scholarliness.

 

Thor wondered how different things might have been for both of them if they had been born into a world like this instead.

 

As the months dragged on, Thor found himself carrying on conversations with his brother. It wasn’t that he thought Loki could actually hear him, or expected a response. He supposed that if anyone were to observe him they might think him mad, and he couldn’t deny that the urge to speak to someone who wasn’t there was partly born from his isolation and loneliness. But the greater part was regret that for so long he _hadn’t_ talked to Loki, and he’d spent so much time _not_ listening to Loki was really saying when he did. They might have been spared a great deal of pain if he had. But talking to Loki, listening to the silence echo back at him wasn’t very satisfying. He needed something more tangible, a better way to organize his thoughts. The people here still wrote letters, despite their telephones and televisions, and Thor was easily able to buy pen and paper.

 

He wrote Loki every day.

 

Sometimes the letters were short, brief notes about how he was feeling, most often when Thor was tired or depressed. Other times he would write pages, his thoughts rambling, his hand struggling to keep up with his brain. It was an activity he was unused to, his hand often aching after a long period from gripping his pen too tightly. He often frowned at his stiff, blocky runes,so different from Loki’s neat, delicate script. But not matter how little or much he wrote, he always folded up each letter and tucked it in a box for safekeeping.

 

Thor’s letters contained a little bit of everything. He wrote about the things he had learned in his experiences on Earth, he asked what Loki was doing, and recalled his favorite memories of growing up and living with his brother. He told Loki of the struggles this world endured, of how they had aligned themselves to into great nations, Uppsala sitting in what was now Sweden. He told Loki of the great wars they had, how warfare itself had changed, had become a slaughter to make even the hardest of warriors sick, and how tensions were so high between the nations here that they perpetually teetered on the brink of annihilating each other.

 

When the world stood still for seven days in October of 1962, Thor wrote Loki about what it felt like to stand by and watch, helpless.

 

The box of letters eventually grew full, and Thor gathered them up one night and burned them one by one over his stove, collecting the ashes and scattering them into the wind. That night, he began another letter.

 

\---

 

Two weeks after he had burned the box of letters, Hogun came to him.

 

Thor recognized him at once, despite his mundane dress and his hair slicked back instead of in his typical topknot. He lit up upon seeing an old friend, and in the moment of being with someone who truly knew him, the shame of his exile and living conditions were forgotten.

 

Hogun approached him as Thor stumbled home in the small hours of the morning, tired and worn out from his job. It seemed that he tired more easily these days, though his strength and powers didn’t seem to have weakened when he stole off to some secluded place and tested himself. He wondered if it was a result of going without Idunn’s apples, the beginnings of mortality creeping up on him. The apples didn’t need to be consumed all that often, but it had been three years since he’d last had one, and he wondered how long he would survive without them. His own mortality no longer frightened him; Thor was too disillusioned by all he had seen to fear death. But he did not relish the thought of his strength draining away as he aged, leaving him as weak and helpless as babe.

 

Hogun appeared like a shadow, stepping up to Thor’s side to walk with him back to Thor’s apartment. He didn’t frown or turn up his nose at the tiny residence, instead regarding it with the same quiet curiosity he gave all new things, his eyes flitting from one item to the next. Thor urged him to sit and made them coffee. They drank cup after cup while they talked. Hogun told him--with no small amount of contempt and disgust--that the All-Father had accused Thor and Loki of incest, treason, and regicide, and that the people were divided on the issue. Loki hadn’t been seen in Asgard since Thor was banished, which people took as a sign of guilt. They wanted to believe Loki capable of such things, but to believe the same of their crown prince it was far more difficult.

 

He pressed Hogun with questions about Baldr, about what had changed in Asgard, about where Volstagg and Sif were, even Fandral. He wanted to know everything that had happened in his absence.

Hogun’s talk made Thor long for home, not for his family, though he did yearn for the childish ignorance of his youth, when they had all been together and happy, but for his culture. Midgard— _Earth_ —was too different for him. He missed his traditions, his feast halls and his dress, and the way they spoke to one another. But all of that was denied to him, and would be for so long that it might as well be forever. 

 

And then, at the end of their conversation, when Thor’s eyes were stinging with sleep and his head swimming, Hogun produced a golden apple. He set it on the table, and told Thor that another one of them would return with an apple in a year to two years, and would continue to do so for as long as it took until Thor could come home.

 

Thor had thanked him, throat tight with emotion, and shown him to the door. When his friend had departed, the apartment seemed all the more empty, all the more dark and dank and crushing.

 

In the dim fluorescent light of his kitchen, Thor ate the apple, bite by bite.

 

\---

 

Thor couldn’t stay in Uppsala forever.

 

With the apples, he wouldn’t age. He had already been there for three years, and sooner or later someone would notice if he didn’t age. In order to avoid attracting attention, he would have to move. As he packed, he realized that it was something he would have to do over and over again, that no matter where he want, he would never be able to stay for very long, would never be able to give himself any kind of permanence.

 

He ended up in Stockholm, which was even bigger than Uppsala and brought another period of adjustment for Thor, though it was shorter and easier than when he first arrived on Earth. Again, he found himself a job, this time at a hospital, doing the type of menial labor that could be found easily.

 

It was in Stockholm that he began to think about taking up an actual profession. His job at the hospital introduced him to Earth’s medicine. It wasn’t as advanced as the healing he had seen on Asgard, but it had come far since his first visits to Midgard and was improving rapidly. It was a way for Thor to help others, to heal rather than harm, and he enrolled himself in nursing classes. On Earth, this part of healing was typically a woman’s profession, and while Thor understood the stigma attached to it, he did not care. Most encouraged him to become a doctor instead, but Thor knew he wasn’t quite smart enough to be a doctor, even here. The mysteries of the body had been Loki’s domain, and Thor was certain his brother would have loved anatomy classes and physiology and biology. Loki would have been a good doctor, would have taken the knowledge the humans had amassed and done great things with it.

 

The classes were hard, and the work harder. Between his job and his classes, days were long, and he had little time for idleness. The practicum provided a respite; Thor found he liked caring for people, helping to relieve their suffering or just make their days a bit easier, and watching his patients get better made the days bearable. As for the rest, book learning and test taking had never come easy for him, but he refused to give up, refused to quit. It was a struggle, but when he held his degree, he felt a surge of satisfaction as powerful as any he had felt on the battlefield.

 

During his studies, he learned about psychology, that the humans had extended their healing to the mind as well, and that an entire field that had been devoted to the study of it. He learned about illnesses of the mind, about patterns of behavior, and about abuse. He read about children who suffered as his brother did, discovered the ways people had found to help them, and he cursed himself for not having such things available to him when he needed them. There were organizations devoted to helping those children and Thor always gave generously, an anonymous donation whenever his paychecks came in. He knew it was too little, too late for his brother, but if what he did could save another child, could make a difference and give them the chance Loki never had, then it was worth it.

 

\---

 

Sif had come to him a year after Hogun, just after Thor start his studies.

 

She brought two apples this time, and they spent hours talking, Thor still in his white uniform from class, but he was eager to show her what he had learned of Midgard. He cooked her dinner, and after they walked around Stockholm as the sun set, enjoying the view and the chill air. Thor ate one of his apples after she left and tucked the other away, keeping it safe until the next year.

 

\---

 

Thor left Stockholm after five years.

 

This time, he moved west, across the vast oceans. New York was his destination, the glimmering glass jewel of the United States, and with new fake papers procured in Stockholm, he was able to get there without trouble. It was easier to secure a job here, even though the stigma of doing a woman’s job lingered. Many, mostly the doctors, looked down on him for it, but they never dared say anything to his face. His co-workers, though, the female nurses he spent his days with, didn’t have the same reservations, especially when his size and strength was helping in moving an injured patient or subduing a combative one.

 

His apartment in New York was different as well, nestled in a high floor of a skyscraper. These buildings were taller than those in Stockholm. Humanity liked to reach _up_ , to strain toward the heavens, and New York was a testament to that, magnificent structures of glass and metal that twisted up like trees from the ground. Thor delighted in these wonders, exploring these moments that humans had built to their ingenuity, from the Empire State building to the Statue of Liberty.

 

Sometimes he would catch sight of the scar on his palm, the scar he had put there in an effort to make his brotherhood to Loki tangible and permanent, and he would stop and stare for long minutes, trying to recall the image of his brother in his head, from the sharp curve of his nose to his almost delicate brow to his thin, curved lips, and most of all, his eyes, both cunning and frightened.

 

Though humans were never truly peaceful, times began to grow turbulent, the unrest rippling through greater segments of the population. Thor watched gas prices rise, witnessed coverage of the Vietnam War, saw as four students were shot in Kent State. That baffled him. They were scholars, _children_. What harm could they have done? He even managed to drive out to Bethel to see Woodstock, to watch these people that he was not a part of cavort and fornicate and lose themselves, a brief, shining respite in the midst of upheaval.

 

The weary monotony of his life began to take its toll. Four years in New York was enough for him, and Thor sold off most of his possessions, bought an old red pickup truck, and packed what he hadn’t sold into it. He was careful to wrap Magni in a couple of shirts before tucking the doll into one of his suitcases.

 

Then he picked a road at random and began to drive.

 

\---

 

Being alone was both a blessing and a curse.

 

On one hand, Thor was free of all of his normal obligations, the stress of work and day to day living, of struggling to follow social niceties so he didn’t stand out too much. But on the other hand, he no longer had distractions, and as he drove from location to location, with only the radio for company, he found himself thinking of his brother more and more. Where was Loki now? Had he set himself up a new life? Had he finally found some happiness at long last?

 

Or did he even still live?

 

Something deep down in Thor told him no, that his brother was no longer with them. Because if he was, why hadn’t Loki sought him out? They were away from Asgard now, away from their demons. Thor could finally begin to set things right for Loki. There were ways for Loki to find him, but Thor had heard nothing, not a single sign from his brother.

 

Loki would have come for him, if he were still alive. He had no reason to stay away. Thor recalled how distraught Loki had been towards the end, how he’d struggled to die. What was to stop him once he was alone?

 

Eventually, the grief of such thoughts eclipsed all others, and Thor pulled off the road, deep in the woods of Manitoba. He parked the truck and staggered out, the chill air enough to clear his thoughts so he could refocus.

 

The conifers were thick and the undergrowth desolate, and Thor wandered through the trees until he came to a decently sized clearing. He picked a spot, near one of the pines, and then hunted for a rock, eventually settling for a boulder plucked from a nearby stream. Thor carried it back, set the boulder in the desired spot, and then went back for more stones. All in all, he took eight small stones, and placed them in an oval, using the boulder as one of the very ends.

 

He had no body to bury, but it was a grave nonetheless.

 

When his task was done, his fingers and jeans caked with mud, his head spinning with regrets, Thor knelt on top of his makeshift memorial and mourned the brother he had lost. He stayed there while the clouds rolled in, thick and gray, rumbling with thunder. When the rain began to fall, a drizzle at first, and then thick, fat drops that came down in sheets, Thor remained. Even the lightning strikes did nothing to deter him as conifers were struck all around him.

 

As the storm passed over him, Thor rose, and walked back to his truck.

 

\---

 

As he passed into Alberta, Thor met Volstagg.

 

He was all bundled up, wrapped in a thick navy blue coat and a hat with ear flaps, one thumb jerked out over the road in a sign that Thor had learned stood for hitching. He looked a great deal like the woodsmen who lived in this part of the world, but the thick auburn beard gave him away, along with the friendly glint in his eyes as the red Chevy pulled up, and a moment later his portly friend was climbing into the truck.

 

They talked as Thor drove through Alberta, continuing to follow his plan to drive to British Columbia before heading into the Yukon and then back south. Thor told Volstagg of all of his travels so far, of what became of Uppsala and his adventures in Stockholm and how crowded and alien New York was. He admitted that he liked Canada because of the long stretches of untamed wilderness, because, despite the truck and the clothes, Thor could pretend he was back home.

 

In the evening, they broke for dinner at a truck stop. Things quickly turned rowdy as Volstagg ordered most of the menu, drinks were poured, and conversation had with the rest of the truckers. Strangely, it felt like a mead hall back in Asgard, with drinks and stories of the front, with laughter and food.

 

Thor made sure to tip the waitress very generously.

 

When the merriment had died down, and they could linger no longer without drawing suspicion, they hurried through the cold back to the truck, piling in as Thor started the ignition and turned the heat on. For a while, they drove in silence, just staring at the stars and the dark, snowy forest before Thor summoned the strength to ask about his brother.

 

“Have you had...word...of Loki?” he murmured, unconsciously gripping the steering wheel tighter.

 

“None,” Volstagg admitted sadly. “None since he left and you were banished. Even Heimdall cannot see him.” He sighed and leaned against the door. “Most of Asgard believes him dead.”

 

“And you?”

 

Volstagg laughed softly. “You and I...we both know that Loki is crafty. I have no doubt in my mind that he’s alive somewhere, having outsmarted us all. Sif and Hogun are of the same mind.” A pause. “And you, Thor?”

 

“I don’t know what to believe,” Thor confessed. “I...a part hopes he is alive, wants so badly for that to be true. Yet the greater part thinks him dead.”

 

Silence hung between them. Eventually, Volstagg cleared his throat. “If he went to anyone, Thor, it would be you. I’ve no doubt that he could find you.”

 

Thor nodded, but it was a flimsy comfort. Loki hadn’t come to him in ten years. If he were going to seek out Thor, he would have done it already; there was nothing holding him back now, if he still lived. Obviously death would be a hurdle that not even Loki could overcome.

 

“What do they say of me? On Asgard?”

 

Volstagg frowned. “You don’t want to know, Thor. Asgard turns inward on herself.”

 

“No, please,” Thor insisted. “I want to know.”

 

Volstagg was quiet for a long moment. “A fair number believe Odin’s lies. Some of them say that you were swayed by Loki, that it was he who lured you into his bed with sweet words or spells and then urged you to kill your father. Others say that it was your idea from the start. Yet some know the madness of the All-Father and believe that the accusations are what they are-- _lies._ And most of Asgard...they miss their prince.”

 

It stung. To think that those who had known him for centuries could so easily be convinced to cast those beliefs aside, to think _him_ the monster.... Thor stared numbly out at the road, watching his headlights dance on the asphalt.

 

“Midgard is not the only realm open to you, Thor,” Volstagg said softly. “You could go to Alfheim. Vanaheim. Be a little closer, with those more like your own.”

 

“No,” Thor replied sadly. “It’s better to be severed from all of it.”

 

Volstagg nodded, and they drove in silence once more. There was little more for them to say. As dawn broke, Thor pulled the truck over to the side of the road, Volstagg climbing out and landing in a snowbank. “Heimdall watches over you, Thor,” he assured. “We all do. We won’t let you get into trouble if we can help it.”

 

“Thank you,” Thor said, trying to smile. Volstagg awkwardly patted his pockets, searching for something.

 

“Before I forget,” he said, procuring two gleaming apples from a breast pocket, “here are these. We’ll see you soon. Take care, my friend.”

 

“You as well.”

 

Volstagg shut the door, a bit too roughly, and then Thor put the truck back into drive and pulled onto the road once more. He eyed his friend in the rearview mirror for a second before focusing back on the road, and by the time he had looked back the Bifrost had swallowed him up.

 

Sighing, Thor continued on to British Columbia.

 

\---

 

When the north grew tiresome, Thor headed south.

 

He had seen the Yukon and its flat, icy expanses, the thick forests of Canada, and the ice floes of the Northwest. Now he wanted to see what else this realm had to offer, what wonders were waiting to be discovered. He drove south, through Washington and Oregon, through California, all the way down to Los Angeles.

 

He saw the coast there, saw Hollywood with its movie stars that the people here admired as they had the gods of old. And then he drove back east, through Nevada and New Mexico and Arizona, through deserts so hot he thought he had wandered into Muspellheim. There was nothing on Asgard comparable to this, no cactuses nor buttes nor tumbleweeds. He saw the flashing lights of Las Vegas, the “Sin City” of the United States, and for a time he enjoyed its cheap comforts.

 

He drove further, through Alabama and Louisiana. He saw the city of New Orleans, reveled in its rich culture and music and food. He saw the churches of the south, with their unshakable belief in something more powerful. The concept was strange to him. Thor had never believed in anything beyond himself, had never needed to, and for a long moment, he wondered.

 

Of course, he told all of this to Loki.

 

When he finally reached Miami, he supposed there wasn’t much left to see. He could double back and drive through the Midwest, he supposed, see the Black Hills and Mt. Rushmore, but the idea had little appeal. For all that Midgard was full of wonder, his journey had revealed that seeing so much of it bred diminished awe as he saw more and more. He needed a break, to settle himself once more before seeking out a new path to explore. Thor didn’t want to return to New York. It was too fast, too hard, and he longed for something different than the massive, bustling city. California had been nice, warm and golden and calmer, and so he decided to go back there, settling on Malibu as big enough to keep him occupied, but not so big he could get lost in it.

 

Fake papers were once again procured--more expensive than the last set--and used to find another job and apartment. As he settled back into the day to day monotony of earning a living, Thor wondered what it would be like to simply live out the rest of his life like this, like the humans did. He pondered leaving the apples uneaten, simply allowing himself to grow old and die, like every other mortal. He discarded the idea after a moment; perhaps, someday, that might yet be his fate, but for now he wasn’t ready to give up, to leave unanswered all the questions he had. And it would feel too much like letting his father win.

 

When he settled in Malibu, the year was 1980. He kept writing Loki, boxes upon boxes of letters that he would ceremoniously burn once a year. He’d kept writing throughout his travels, and now that he couldn’t tell him of the wonders of Midgard, his letters returned to the realities of day to day living. While the general tone of what he wrote was friendly, some letters were angry, wondering why his brother hadn’t found him, some were sad, desperate pleas for Loki to seek him out and put to rest the belief that he was dead.

 

Like before, Thor moved every five years so as to not cast suspicion on himself, journeying up and down the California coast. As human technology advanced, he began to recognize not only the importance of fake identities that grew ever more complicated and costly, but that his appearance needed to change as well. Thor cut his hair and shaved his beard for one move, grew long hair like the surfers did for the next, shaved it into a crew cut and grew the beard back for a third. And all around him, the world advanced. Technology boomed, with computers and the internet. It awed Thor, at how quickly everything advanced, at how fast life changed, and he wondered how anyone could keep up with it.

 

On midnight of December 31st, 1999, Thor stood on the roof of his apartment building, surrounded by his fellow residents. They drank and laughed while he stood at the edge of the crowd and watched them, indulgent in their little brilliant splash of life. They lived so quickly, so passionately, the way he once had.

 

When the countdown began, Thor lifted his glass with the rest of them and ushered in a new millenium.

 

\---

 

Shortly after the year 2000 began, when it was apparent that Y2K was a myth and things would proceed as they always had, Thor moved to San Francisco. He liked the bay, the mild climate, and the city’s culture, and for another five years, he was happy to occupy himself here.

 

He watched the world tear itself asunder once more, with attacks in New York and entangled conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq. Such warfare here saddened him, and he realized the hypocrisy in his sadness, for back in Asgard he had cherished battle and glory and victory above all else. His life had revolved around it. But here it seemed senseless, for men to kill and maim one another under the orders of another, all because of what greater powers they chose to believe in.

 

He didn’t make it the full five years he had allotted himself in San Francisco. He was too disillusioned, too frustrated by all of it. It had been more than twenty years since his travels across Canada and America, and he thought that another journey might be what he needed to shake off his negativity. So Thor put his things in storage, took out a large chunk of his savings, and decided to not just see North America, but to see the whole world.

 

He went east first, to Japan, where he stood taller than everyone else and he barely fit in their crowded cities. Their culture was so neat and orderly and _precise,_ the very antithesis of how he’d lived most of his life and something that also threatened to smother Thor, but he had a great respect for it. From Japan he went to China, where the locals liked to touch his hair, believing it would bring them luck. He saw the great cities of Bejing and Shanghai, and then, with a detour to Hong Kong, he went south, to Australia, to explore the hot, dry deserts and the vibrant coral reefs.

 

After Australia came long plane flights that brought him to India. He saw their great temples, their jungles, tasted their food that burned like fire in his mouth. And then he moved west, to Turkey to see Istanbul and Hagia Sophia and the Black Sea. He went north, into Russia, to see Moscow and St. Petersburg, to see St. Basil’s and the Red Square and marveled at the fact that when he had arrived here, this part of the world had been walled off.

 

The rest of Europe fell into place. He saw Germany, saw the Brandenburger Tor and the remnants of the Berlin Wall, saw France with beautiful Paris and the Seine, Notre Dame and Reims and Chartes and all her fine cathedrals. Italy followed, with the Colosseum of Rome and the canals of Venice. He saw Spain, saw Barcelona and Madrid, and then he stood on the Rock of Gibraltar and gazed south to Africa.

 

He started in Egypt, with its pyramids and fine temples to kings of old. He moved south, upstream down the Nile, through Ethiopia and Kenya all the way down to South Africa, spending a few days in Johannesburg. He went through Botswana, found the people lovely and friendly, and then up to the Ivory Coast, to Nigeria and Liberia and Sierra Leone.

 

And then, he wandered back up the coast to Spain, catching a flight from Barcelona to New York and then from New York to Chicago and finally Chicago to San Francisco. Having seen enough of the world, feeling both energized from taking time to explore and experience, yet also needing to be alone again, away from the crush of people, he gathered up his things and headed for the southwest.

 

\---

 

In a tiny speck of a town named Puente Antiguo, Thor met Jane Foster.

 

He had found work at the local hospital, returning to what he knew, albeit under the alias of “Thorlief Golmen” this time. Thorlief hailed from Stockholm, was teasingly known as “Thor” amongst his co-workers, and was always willing to work the graveyard shift when someone needed a sub.

 

It was on one of those graveyard shifts that Jane Foster and her intern Darcy Lewis were admitted.

 

They just had minor whiplash and some bruising, sustained during a minor auto accident, but according to Jane, Darcy had apparently hit her head rather sharply on the steering wheel and she wanted to be sure the girl didn’t have a concussion. Thor didn’t mind seeing to it. It was a relief from all of the injuries he often saw, bone sticking through skin, or the deep wounds that required stitches and sometimes surgery.

 

Darcy was immediately smitten with him, but it was Jane who Thor spent the most time with. A CAT scan was arranged, Thor ferrying paperwork from the nurses station to Jane and the man who had accompanied her, who introduced himself to Thor as Erik and also hailed from Sweden.

 

Awkward small talk was made, and as the night drew on, with Darcy’s CAT scan being pushed later and later as the nurses searched for someone on-call capable of running the machine, Thor got to know Jane. At three a.m. he brought her coffee, and she told him about her job while Erik napped, spread out across three plush red seats in the waiting room.

 

Jane was smart. She bore Loki’s gift and curse, blessed with intelligence that surpassed all of her peers yet cursed with the stigma that came with it, for Thor had discovered that even on Midgard, those who were so far above others were often ridiculed for their talents. Thor liked listening to her talk, to hear her speak of wormholes--Einstein-Rosen bridges, in her words--and of binary stars and space-time. To her, the universe was a neat, logical system, one where nothing went without explanation, where no cause was without effect. He wanted to tell her of the things he had seen, of the sky above Asgard that held all the wonders she treasured, of the chaos and beauty he had witnessed, but he knew he could not. Not even Jane, with her understanding of such complex things, would believe him. She would scoot a few chairs away until she could report him and have him tossed away in the psychiatric ward.

 

As the morning crew began to arrive, Darcy’s CAT scan was finally completed, and she was discharged, Jane signing off on the last bits of paperwork and getting the prescriptions they gave her on Darcy’s behalf. Jane bid goodbye to Thor, thanked him for the coffee, and then since his shift was over, he shuffled off to go retrieve his things from his locker and head home.

 

By happenstance, Jane spotted him in the parking lot, and invited him out for pancakes as a way of saying thank you for keeping her company. Thor agreed, expecting nothing more than a meal with some friendly people. But Jane had proven interesting, surprisingly funny, and undeniably beautiful. Thor found himself attracted, and without thinking, asked her out. Jane blushed and smiled and said yes.

 

Six months later, Thor packed his things again and moved in with Jane.

 

\---

 

With Jane, things were simple.

 

She worked long hours, he worked long hours, and so whatever time they spent together was never wasted, even if it was simply lying sprawled on the couch, Jane curled against him as the news droned softly in the background. Thor remembered how they’d stared, wide-eyed, at the broadcast of Brooklyn, being torn apart by a green monster. Jane was smart and beautiful and dedicated, and Thor made it his goal to spoil her. She didn’t ask about the strange things he brought with him, about the heavy cardboard box stashed in the closet or the small wooden doll on Thor’s side of the bookshelf. She noticed, but she never pried. Jane knew when things were private.

 

It took some time to win over Erik, who saw and protected Jane like a daughter, but once he saw that Thor’s intentions were genuine, he gave his approval. Darcy had been won over the moment Jane had brought her to the hospital, and though she often decried Jane’s good luck, she quickly became a friend like he hadn’t had since he arrived on Midgard.

 

Time marched on. They had been together for a year when Darcy got into graduate school and left Puente Antiguo, and for two years by the time Erik decided to return home to Sweden and lecture there. For their third anniversary, Thor ‘saved his pennies’ and bought tickets to the Stark Expo that year, splurging on a nice hotel for the two of them to stay at. It would be just them for them to get away and for Jane to wander the aisles and see the wonders that would be unveiled.

 

She was thrilled when she woke up and saw the tickets on the nightstand. Thor had been thrilled just watching her excitedly babble over eggs and bacon.

 

The Stark Expo was worth every cent. Jane went wide-eyed at every new booth and display, eagerly dragging Thor down all the aisles and through crowds. Thor, for the most part, enjoyed himself, enjoyed looking at the novelties and gadgets these mortals came up with.

 

When the drones at the Expo went rogue, no longer under the control of Justin Hammer, Thor tried to get Jane to safety. It was hard, guiding such a small woman through huge crowds; Thor wanted to just pick her up and knock everyone out of the way, but he couldn’t let other innocents suffer for such an act. Inevitably, Jane was swept away in a current of people. The drones were closing in, the risk of injury and death too immediate for Thor to stand by and do nothing. That was when fear and anger took over in Thor.

 

In minutes Mjolnir, was in his hand, having taken out two booths and probably half their apartment on her way there. She stopped briefly in Thor’s palm before he threw her, knocking out the two drones and then he rushed to find Jane. She was wide-eyed, this time in fright, staring in shock at both him and Mjolnir. There was no time to reassure her, or answer the questions he knew had to be churning in her mind. Thor urged her to get to safety before he ran into the middle of the fray.

 

Mjolnir allowed him to summon his armor, and it formed around him like a second skin. He took a scant moment to savor how _right_ it felt and then he was slashing and crushing like in the old days, like these were creatures of Niflheim and not the mechanical creations of a mortal man. How ironic, Thor thought, that Mjolnir was their end, given the namesake of their creator.

 

He wasn’t alone in the fray. Two more joined him, one of which Thor recognized from the news as Tony Stark himself, clad in his signature armor, and another warrior wearing a similar suit, but in silver. There was no discussion between them, only a mutual, wordless team effort that ended when all of the drones and Ivan Vanko lay dead.

 

Thor was about to celebrate his victory, to congratulate Stark on a job well done, when he was surrounded by agents, their guns trained on him. They didn’t frighten Thor, but they made him uneasy, if only for what they might do to Stark and his comrade or to Jane, if they had her. Thor stood his ground, his knuckles white as he gripped Mjolnir, ready to defend himself if need be, Stark and his friend behind him.

 

At last, someone breached the circle, a man in a black and white suit with close cropped brown hair. He boldly walked toward Thor and Stark, and then held out his hand in a greeting, waiting for Thor to shake it. “I’m Agent Phil Coulson, of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he began. “Please put down the hammer.”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Thor shook Phil’s hand.

 

\---

 

What followed was a flurry of excitement and new experiences.

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately moved to integrate both Stark and Thor into their systems, offering both positions on high-clearance teams. Their third companion, a close friend of Stark’s named James Rhodes, was already a member of the Air Force, but S.H.I.E.L.D. had offered to waive all of his paperwork if he wanted to join them. Rhodes had declined, but Thor got the sense that he would still see the man from time to time.

 

Stark refused to sign any contracts. He was a man who supported the private industry, Thor understood, and while he pledged to aid if his help was needed, this was not his thing. He had a company to run and gadgets to invent.

 

And so that left Thor. He didn’t know how well S.H.I.E.L.D. would react to letting him go. He was, for all intents and purposes, an alien, and a very powerful one at that; based on Thor’s understanding, the United States did not like such potential threats unless they could control them. With nothing else to keep him or Jane safe, Thor had little choice but to join them, with the caveat that he could return to his realms whenever he wished. Though they could not stop him from calling the Bifrost, he doubted he would be welcome to return if he did, and he did not want to leave Jane.

 

Twenty-four hours after he had been first picked up by S.H.I.E.L.D., they let him see Jane. At his request, they had found her and brought her to his location--Thor had sworn he would destroy the facility if they harmed so much as a hair on her head--where they were drawing Thor’s blood and poking and prodding at Mjolnir, flummoxed by their inability to move it. When Jane was let into the room, Thor was still on the hospital bed, a doctor filling vials of his blood from a shunt with a butterfly valve.

 

In seconds, Jane strode frantically across the room and slapped Thor. When he looked at her, shocked and surprised and hurt, she threw her arms around him and sobbed into his chest. The doctors cleared out quickly thereafter, one slapping a Band-aid on Thor’s arm for appearance’s sake. As he pulled on the shirt they gave him, Jane gathered herself enough to speak.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. Her voice was small and congested.

 

Thor fiddled with his hem. “If I had told you, you would have thought I was insane.”

 

Jane looked at the floor. They both knew it was true. Thor sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, I did. But there was never a way to do so.”

 

She nodded. “How long have you been here?”

 

“What do you mean?” Thor tilted his head.

 

Jane laughed sardonically. “The stories of Thor and Loki and all of,” she gestured at him, “whatever you are, are thousands of years old. How long have you been here?”

 

“On Earth?” Thor bit his lip. “Since about 1960. But I am old, thousands of years, as you put it.”

 

“1960.” She laughed shakily. “How did you pull that one off?”

 

Thor sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I moved. Every five years or so I’d change my identity and move.”

 

“Were you going to do that with me?”

 

“What?”

 

“In another two or three years, were you going to break up with me, pack up and leave?”

 

“No, Jane--”

 

She shook her head, unwilling to listen to him, looking down at the floor. “This is...this is too much for me to process right now. I need some time to think things over.”

 

Thor nodded, disappointed but unable to be truly upset. “Would you like me to move my things out?”

 

“No.” Jane looked up at him. “I don’t want to do that. I just need some...time. You’re staying here, right?” He nodded. “I’m going to go back home. If you need anything, just let me know and I’ll get these suits to give them to you.”

 

There was a long, tense moment of silence between them, Thor staring pleadingly at Jane, who couldn’t hold his gaze. “All right. Take what time you need.”

 

“I’ll call you,” she said quickly, trying to reassure him

 

Thor nodded one last time. “Goodbye, Jane.”

 

“Bye.”

 

\---

 

Life at S.H.I.E.L.D. was much like any of Thor’s moves at first, alone without a familiar face.

 

Soon enough, though, Thor befriended Phil, who proved to be sharp and witty beneath his mild-mannered exterior. He was introduced to Nick Fury, an older, wise, hardened man who Thor quickly came to respect as a leader. One of Fury’s eyes had been taken from him; though he knew it wasn’t true, Thor liked to think that he had traded it for wisdom the same way his own father had, although Fury had made much better use of said wisdom. Maria Hill was one of Fury’s assistants, and Thor liked her. She had a bit of Sif in her, strong-willed and beautiful, yet more capable than most of the men she worked with.

 

Clinton “Clint” Barton, also jokingly known as “Hawkeye,” and Natasha Romanoff, the “Black Widow” were the first two agents Thor met. They did reconnaissance and infiltration, spy work, something that Thor was entirely unfamiliar with when he arrived on earth, but James Bond films had given him an inkling of what that entailed. They were masters of their craft, both excellent hand-to-hand fighters and Clint was a master archer. Natasha, after getting to know Thor, offered to teach him some of her fighting style, which she told him was known as sambo.

 

Sometimes they worked with Stark, although he still staunchly refused to let himself be tied down with any sort of contract. He was arrogant, yes, but quickly friendly to everyone on the team, and when they were off-duty Tony had no problem taking them to his house in Malibu for long weekends. He was a busybody, a genius, and Thor often spent long hours late at night in Tony’s workshop, listening to him ramble about topic after topic, handing him whatever tools he asked for.

 

“You remind me of my brother,” Thor told him one night, as Tony closed the hood of the Aston Martin he’d been working on.

 

“Oh yeah?” Tony rubbed his fingers together, smearing the dark grease onto the tips. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

 

“I have not seen him in many years. I do not know if he even still lives,” Thor said, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he had mentioned Loki’s presumed death outside of his thoughts. “But he was very intelligent, as you are. He was...ahead of our people, and he suffered for it.”

 

The look Stark gave him was both understanding and sympathetic, and for once, he had no sarcastic repartee.

 

After two months, Jane returned to him. They’d been talking every so often on the phone, but they hadn’t seemed to be reaching a decision about what to do. Thor had expected Phil to bring him the boxes of his things every day until then, but when Jane appeared at the facility, sheepishly being led around by Maria, a great weight lifted from his heart.

 

“I want to make this work,” she told him, in the private of the quarters he had been given. “You were right. I would’ve thought you were a crazy person if you’d just up and told me, but now...now I’ve thought about it, and I want you to tell me everything.”

 

“Everything?” he questioned, sitting down in one of his armchairs and undoing his gloves.

 

“Everything,” she reiterated, crossing the room and settling herself in his lap.

 

Thor gathered his thoughts, and after a moment, began to speak.

 

\---

 

Things became as routine as they could be.

 

Thor took continued living at the facility, but Jane maintained her apartment in Puente Antiguo, and S.H.I.E.L.D. picked up another small one for her a few miles away from the compound. She spent every other weekend there, just to see Thor, but it was hard, making their relationship work on phone calls, video chat, and sparse visits.

 

Sometimes he couldn’t even make visits. While Clint and Natasha worked in reconnaissance, Thor had never been trained to do so, and S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it was apparently too late in the game to teach him. Instead, he was brought in when situations were dire, having been recognized for his durability and damage-dealing potential in combat.

 

But that meant last-minute calls and flights out to the other side of the world on a moment’s notice, which all too often conflicted with Jane’s visits. Or there would be times when Jane was too busy to make her flight, caught up in work.

 

After eight months, Thor decided to end it. It wasn’t fair to keep Jane like this, to let her spend years of her life getting occasional weekends with her partner. He waited until they were together, until after dinner on one of Jane’s visits, and then he told her how she felt.

 

Jane had smiled wearily, curled up next to Thor on the couch, and told him she felt largely the same. Thor had held her close, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and kept her there for a long while.

 

Two weeks later, Jane finished mailing him the last of his things. They were still amenable, they still emailed and called frequently, and Thor felt a bit better still having such a close friend. He had Phil, he had Clint and Natasha, and he had a friendly rapport with Tony Stark, but there was something different about Jane and about having someone who knew and accepted him before everyone knew what he really was.

 

\---

 

Sif was amazed how much Thor’s life had changed since she last saw him.

 

She was his most frequent visitor, coming down typically every two years to bring him the apples. He had more than enough now, and he ate one yearly, since he could afford to. Sif’s visits were not for the sole purpose of bringing Thor Idunn’s apples; he knew she missed him, and Sif was always eager to tell him of Asgard and to hear his stories in return.

 

This time, Thor had plenty to tell. He discussed Clint, and Natasha, Phil and Fury and all of S.H.I.E.L.D, of how his relationship with Jane had ended but their friendship remained, of his dealings with Tony Stark, James Rhodes and Pepper Potts.

 

It was sad to see Sif go when she had to depart, but Thor was confident he would see her in another two years.

 

\---

 

Thor was the first person to lay eyes on Steve Rogers in seventy years.

 

Phil had wrangled both Thor and Tony into this mission. Tony’s father, Howard, as Thor learned, had been obsessed with finding his wartime friend after Captain Rogers’s plane had crashed. Tony bitterly resented his father for that obsession, but he had agreed to help investigate when S.H.I.E.L.D. satellites had picked up strange-looking wreckage in the wake of a glacial shift.

 

Tony, bundled in a parka, stood out in the winds of Greenland, directing men all around. Thor stood beside him, less bundled up but still ruddy-faced from the wind and the cold. When the workers had finally dug up the fuselage of the plane and soldered a hole through it, Thor was called over.

 

Stark pulled the hood on his parka tighter, closing off the lower half of his face until only his eyes remained. “Good luck, buddy.”

 

“I’m not the one who will need it,” Thor chided. Stark laughed, and turned back toward their camp.

 

Thor rappelled down into the fuselage, now covered with ice and snow and rust, even on the inside. The plane was at a forty-five degree angle, and so Thor had to proceed cautiously, Mjolnir hanging heavily from his belt. Around him the air was stale and heavy, his breath fogging before him.

 

It was in the cockpit that he discovered Captain Rogers.

 

He had been thrown from the pilot’s chair, lying sprawled facedown a few feet away. Ice had formed over him, like vines creeping up over his body, but as Thor drew closer, Rogers was not the skeletonized, mummified corpse Thor expected. He had seen specimens that had been brought out of the Alps and the Neander valley, of how even when frozen, flesh still caved in on itself. But Rogers, despite his pale skin and bleached hair, simply looked to be asleep, head turned to the side.

 

With the pocket torch Stark had given him, Thor cut through most of the ice, wary to not get too close to Rogers’s skin. And then he broke the remaining bits, pulling his hands from his gloves before he turned Steve Rogers over. Rogers’s body was limp, and pliant, not frozen and stiff like it should be.

 

His hair was white and brittle, his skin pale and a bit drawn, but he was whole, intact, and from Thor’s suspicions, alive. Cautiously, Thor tilted Rogers’s head, and then pressed two fingers to his throat. It took a while, but he finally felt a pulse, a slow, faint flutter of life beneath his fingertips.

 

Thor laughed to himself. Tucking his gloves into his belt, he slid a hand under Rogers’s knees and wrapped one behind his back, picking him up and carrying him toward the exit where the medical staff could attempt to revive him completely.

 

\---

 

Approximately forty-eight hours after he had been found, Steve woke in a hospital room, with restraints wrapped around his wrists and an IV in his arm. He had been disoriented and frightened, nearly violent, until Phil had calmed him down enough to explain. Thor had overheard some it from the hallway, but Stark missed it, having wandered off to find coffee and make a call to his PA.

 

After Steve’s panic eased, as Phil finished giving him the crash course in his discovery and retrieval, he went silent. And he stayed that way throughout the rest of Phil’s speech, refusing to answer any questions or even indicate he was aware of what was going on. He remained that way for the next twelve hours, refusing to sleep, eat, or speak.

 

When Thor returned to the hospital the next day, at Phil’s request, Steve was alone in his room. Thor wasn’t sure how much help he could be, but no one else had had any luck getting a response. He peeked inside, but Steve didn’t even bother looking over. Even when Thor stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, Steve kept his face turned away, eyes focused on the window. He was still restrained, wrists wrapped in leather sheepskin cuffs that kept him tied to the bedrails.

 

Thor settled himself in a seat, folding his arms over his chest. He wasn’t sure how long they sat in silence, but Steve didn’t seem to want to open up. Eventually, as Thor gave up hope, rising from his seat and heading toward the door, Steve spoke.

 

“You’re the man who found me, aren’t you?”

 

“Technically, no,” Thor corrected. “That honor goes to Anthony Stark, Howard’s son. He was the one who discovered where the plane had shifted to due to the glacier. But I was the one who went down and pulled you out, yes.”

 

“I don’t know whether to thank you or hit you,” Steve said bitterly. “They wake me up here, tell me the war’s been over for seventy years, that Howard’s dead and Peggy’s in a retirement home and everyone else I knew or cared about is old or...or...”

 

Thor sat back down. Steve shot him a glance.

 

“I understand your frustrations, Captain Rogers,” Thor offered. Steve’s brows raised in disbelief, and he snorted. But he listened, patiently, quietly, as Thor told him his story of exile and betrayal and treason, of the brother he had let down and the realm he had abandoned.

 

And then, when Thor had finished, Steve began to talk, and didn’t stop until dawn.

 

\---

Thor was visiting Steve when Dr. Banner arrived.

 

Bringing Dr. Banner in had been partly Fury’s choice, and partly pressure from those above him. They insisted on a doctor, on having someone who could continue their efforts to replicate Erskine’s long-lost formula using Steve’s blood and, and Fury insisted that it be Banner.

 

Banner wasn’t the obvious first choice. His own efforts had gone spectacularly awry, and he had spent the last five years in and out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s custody--but never off their radar--after the damage he’d done to New York. But Fury insisted on him, either because he trusted him, thought he was the best choice, or perhaps wanted to give him this shot at redemption.

 

He was a mild-mannered, calm man who explained everything he was doing to Steve and asked his permission before beginning any procedure. His tests were hardly invasive, either--a bit of blood drawn, a brain scan, and a polite request for an MRI. Steve never had any qualms about them, and Thor wondered if anyone had told him about Banner’s other form.

 

\---

 

Four days later after Banner’s arrival, as Steve Rogers lay still recovering in a hospital bed in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s main compound, HYDRA came.

 

Thor was just finishing his breakfast when the klaxons went off. He was out in the hall in the next second, working his way through the melee of agents and HYDRA footsoldiers, because as soon as Thor saw the emblem on their uniforms, he knew who they had come for.

 

He smashed his way through the grunts, intending to reach Captain Rogers and hoping Dr. Banner was nearby. By the time he arrived at Steve’s room, Clint was already there, and three footsoldiers lay incapacitated on the linoleum floor. Thor eyed Rogers, who was clasping his arm, trying to stem the bleeding from where he’d torn out his IV. His lip was split, but other than that, he seemed in good condition.

 

“He got them all,” Clint said, jerking his thumb at Steve. “Pretty good for a ninety-something year old.” He turned away, pressing a finger to his ear, and Thor assumed Fury was talking to him now. “Fury wants the old man on the roof. Think you can make it, Rogers?”

 

Steve nodded. “Bet I could probably beat you there.”

 

Clint laughed.

 

\---

 

Stark, Natasha and Banner were already on the roof.

 

As Thor took stock of the situation, Mjolnir gripped tightly in one hand, he saw _why_ Fury had wanted them on the roof--the smoking remains of a helicopter lay on the far end. Now with the helicopter destroyed, there was no way to get Steve and Dr. Banner off the compound this way, although from Dr. Banner’s currently green state, it would be ill-advised to take him _anywhere._

 

Here it was, the thick of battle, something so familiar to Thor. But at his side were not Volstagg and Sif and Hogun and Fandral, not his brother, and his enemy was not the jotnar nor the dark elves but a new foe entirely.

 

Steve assessed the whole situation, nodding his head as if to say, _We can work with this, we can make do with the assassin, the archer, the monster, and the others._ Thor watched as Steve took charge. Still wearing his hospital gown and plastic bracelets, he shouted orders to Natasha and Clint; he called out to Stark, son of his long-dead friend Howard; he and Banner made eye contact for a long minute before Banner leapt away to dispatch some HYDRA vehicles. And then, with explosions sounding all around them, with the heat of fire and the smell of ash and smoke acrid in the air, Steve looked to Thor.

 

“Stay with me until I can find some cover?”

 

“Certainly, Captain.”

 

\---

 

Surprisingly, their little ragtag team stuck together after the battle.

 

Clint, Natasha, and Thor had all been working for S.H.I.E.L.D., so joining the initiative was never in doubt, but Stark, shockingly, accepted when Fury offered him a spot on their team. He promised Tony that he’d be free from a military contract, that his obligations and interests would be in protecting civilians, not blowing up military targets.

 

Banner had been tougher to finagle. There were people who still wanted him, those who wanted him to pay for what he’d done to New York and those who wanted him for darker purposes, who saw him as little more than a lab rat to be experiment on. Nick Fury silenced them all, offered Banner a spot on their team, and promised to keep him out of the hands of those who would hurt him, in addition to letting Bruce continue his research. It had been a tough sell--Bruce was justifiably wary of anyone who wanted to keep him cooped up or on a leash. But Stark had reasoned with him, and Bruce had finally agreed.

 

With their team otherwise complete, all eyes had turned to Steve to be the one to unite them, to be the lynchpin to hold them all together. Thor could find no fault with that decision. Steve had sized them up in a moment and known how they should operate, had instantly understood their strengths and weaknesses and how to maximize their effectiveness.

 

Thor knew Steve didn’t want this. Waking up from what he had thought would be his death had been devastating for him. Faced with the loss of _everything_ , the prospect of trying to rebuild his life was too daunting. Thor could well understand his desire to just leave everything behind, to go somewhere where nothing mattered for a while. And so he didn’t press when Steve refused, and he made sure that no one else did, either. Instead he gave Steve the breathing room he needed, helping out when Steve needed to find an apartment and tried to acclimate to a new world. He wanted to be there for Steve as he adjusted in a way no one had been able to for him.

 

Two days before Steve was scheduled to move out and be released from duty, he told Fury he wanted to stay.

 

\---

 

At first, team dynamics were not as smooth as they should have been.

 

Stark had his own issues with Steve, due to his childhood and the way Howard had idolized Steve, had spent most of Tony’s life searching for him. Stark wanted to test Steve’s mettle at every turn, trying to see if he really lived up to the legend Howard had spun. Steve was already at a disadvantage; being woken up seventy years after the war had meant he’d missed out on a lot of technology, a fact that Stark often used to ridicule him. Steve never backed down from it, however, and too frequently they were fighting.

 

Clint and Natasha also had issues accepting Steve’s authority. They thought that someone who had been in S.H.I.E.L.D. longer should lead them, especially in the field. What kind of leadership could Steve provide, having been out of touch with the world for so long? Both Natasha and Clint had looked to Thor, urging him to talk to Steve about stepping aside in favor of Thor as their leader.

 

“C’mon, Thor,” Natasha said. “You’ve been here longer, you know how things work. And it’s not like S.H.I.E.L.D. will ever have to replace you--”

 

Thor had cut her off there. He didn’t like to be reminded of the fact that he was older than these mortals, that he would far outlive them until their memories faded to brief moments in the long span of his life.

 

Still, he had gone to talk to Steve, not to ask him to step down, but to see if there were any way Thor could help remedy things. “They don’t respect me,” Steve said flatly. “And honestly, why should they? I just... _waltzed_ in here and then Fury put me in charge. Stark’s right. I don’t know enough about the world as it is right now to lead.”

 

“Then let me teach you,” Thor offered.

 

They started small, Thor introducing Steve to technology bit by bit, the way he’d done when he first got to Midgard. There were things he was already familiar with--television, telephones--that he simply needed to learn the updated version to--LCD, a cell phone--and from those, they could springboard onto other things. Steve was a fast learner, and after some initial difficulty--and not a little wonder--he was an efficient and knowledgeable as anyone who had grown up with all this technology.

 

He learned to drive again in an afternoon out at a deserted parking lot, doing donuts on the asphalt in a S.H.I.E.L.D. Range Rover. After that, they explored, venturing out to immerse themselves in society to learn the changes in culture Steve had missed. And the whole time, Thor worked on bringing the team together, both during training and outside of it. The other could not come to know Steve and appreciate what he could bring to the team if they didn’t get  chance to learn just what he could offer.

 

Gradually, the the others came to respect him. Stark saw that while Steve would never be his intellectual equal--and that could be said of most people--he was still a smart man and a brilliant tactician, as their subsequent hostile engagements quickly proved. Eventually he let up on Steve, and the two became friends. Natasha and Clint took a bit longer, warming up to Steve when they saw his dedication in the field, how he simply _refused_ to go down and be beaten, how he put his team first. Banner never had any of the issues the others did. As soon as he was sure they didn’t just view him as a monster who had once wrecked half of New York, he was fine with all of them.

 

And, finally, they were a team.

 

\---

 

Thor hadn’t meant to get romantically involved again.

 

After Jane, he had decided that platonic friendships would sustain him. It would be too hard to love and lose one of these mortals so quickly. Sometimes he indulged in flings, in casual sex with an acquaintance, for there were many here willing and eager to bed the “God of Thunder.” He supposed those who thought him arrogant and haughty for his attitudes toward his lovers, for seeking out only sex and nothing further, but Thor found it hard to care about their opinions. His friends did not care, so he was unbothered by the opinions of strangers.

 

He had his team to provide close friendships and loyalties. They were very different, and appreciated them for it. There was Natasha, ever cunning and wily, Clint, sarcastic and loyal, Bruce, smart and shy and always kind-hearted, and Tony, carefree and passionate. And there was Steve, their leader, responsible and honorable and sometimes burdened far too heavily. Of them all, Steve was the one Thor felt closest to, their natures and outlooks aligning far more often than they differed. He knew how much the leadership could weigh someone down, and he was sought Steve out after hard missions to make sure he was all right.

 

This time, Steve was undoing the straps of his boots half-heartedly, sitting on a crate in a deserted equipment room aboard the Helicarrier when Thor found him. He’d disappeared after their Quinjet had landed, stating that he just intended to retire to his quarters there and rest. Thor had been ready to believe him until Steve had gone down a hallway going in the opposite direction of his room. And so, with Natasha busy helping Clint stow his bow and organize his remaining arrowheads, and Tony and Bruce discussing possible ways to repair Tony’s Mark VIII, Thor slipped off to follow Steve.

 

“Are you all right, Steve?” he asked quietly.

 

“’M fine.” Steve undid the other strap on his right boot. He was hunched over, but Thor could still see the soot on his uniform, the places where the blue Kevlar had torn and ripped. It had been a fight without casualties, thankfully, but it had been a hard fight nonetheless, one that left them wrong-out and weary. “Just tired.” He sighed deeply. Thor nodded.

 

He started to back out from the room, turning away, when Steve spoke again. “I’m tired of all of this,” he said, his voice soft. “Tired of always being responsible. Tired of having all of these duties.” Thor stopped and turned around, and when Steve looked up at him, Thor saw his exhaustion, his frustration with being unable to set aside his duty. Thor turned around and crossed to Steve, dragging over a crate with his foot and sitting next to Steve, offering what support his presence he could provide.

 

Thor wasn’t sure why they kissed, or even who initiated it. Maybe he’d leaned over in an effort to comfort the captain, to grasp his shoulder in understanding, and the gesture had quickly gone from platonic sympathy to something romantic. Or maybe it was Steve who looked at Thor, seeking respite, and got swept away by a heady mix of emotions.

 

Regardless of how their embrace began, it quickly gained speed, marked by forceful kisses and rough groping. They broke once, and Thor had a moment to consider the wisdom of this course of action. The thought was lost in another of Steve’s embraces, and he thought no more of it. He just let himself _feel_. It finished with Steve taking Thor upstairs and making love to him. Steve pushed him on his back, spread his legs, and _claimed_ him, with only encouragement from Thor, hot whispers and moans delivered to the shell of Steve’s ear.

 

\---

 

Their relationship was sudden, unexpected, startling strong, and under their present circumstances, against the rules.

  
Steve was technically Thor’s superior, and it was against S.H.I.E.L.D. policy to let a superior have a relationship anyone underneath them because the obvious risk of favoritism or coercion. But the Avengers were different, and after a discussion with Fury, it was decided that so long as their relationship didn’t impact team dynamics, or create a conflict of interest, it would be allowed.

 

They kept it quiet, knowledge of their relationship shared only with the team and a handful of agents outside of it. Steve and Thor were never affectionate in public, out of fear of the backlash it could spark. But in private, well...that was an entirely different matter.

 

When Volstagg brought Thor his next set of apples, there was one extra. Thor knew who it was for.

 

Steve had a hard time accepting the offer of immortality. He turned down the first few, not out of any issue with commitment to Thor, but because it was such a massive step. Thor never pushed him; it was a decision Steve had to make for himself. Finally, after they had been together for three years, he finally accepted one. There was no verbal acknowldgement, but one morning Thor woke to find Steve eating an apple while he made them breakfast.

 

It was shortly after Steve began eating the apples that Sif stopped visiting. At first, Thor didn’t notice, but as the years went on, Thor realized that it was always Hogun or Volstagg, or Fandral on a few occasions, visiting him.

 

To Thor, Steve was a treasure, one he’s never expected to find. He was honorable, noble, courageous and steadfast, an excellent leader who was never too prideful, vain, or greedy. Thor loved to treat him, to remind him of just how valued he was. Steve’s open honesty and delight told Thor he appreciated it. With Steve, he gave his affections easily, unlike in his youth, when he had been fickle with them, ever just a spoiled brat. He found closeness with Steve again, intimacy that he hadn’t experienced in years, something even deeper than what he had had with Jane.

 

Sometimes, while lying under Steve, he wondered if his father, with all his foresight and his wisdom, had ever seen this for his son. The thought always made him laugh inwardly. _Your crown prince, your shining son, getting_ fucked, _and enjoying it._

 

For a long while, things were good. They moved into Steve’s apartment together and settled into domestic life. Steve helped Thor arrange his things around the house, and when he found Magni tucked in the shoebox Thor had packed him in, he made sure to find him a nice spot on one of his shelves, and dusted him regularly. There was occasionally talk of marriage, but neither felt it was quite right, not at that point. Perhaps someday, but not now.

 

And then there was talk of family.

 

Steve wanted a family, Thor knew that. It was something he’d always envisioned for himself, and he had dreamed of having one with Peggy, before the plane crash in Greenland had ended that chance. And after he’d been recovered, he had still hoped to find someone and settle down, raise children and watch them grow. He broached the topic with Thor, asked him about adoption, and Thor had to turn him down, though it nearly broke his own heart to see Steve so disappointed. The memory of his father’s cruelty and sadism, his utter indifference, even enjoyment, toward the pain he caused his children, Loki’s accusations of Thor being just like Odin were still wounds that ran too deep.

 

“I can’t,” he murmured sadly. “After...after what my father did, I’m too afraid, Steve. Too afraid I would hurt them. I can’t trust myself”

 

Steve nodded, said he understood, but Thor knew that didn’t lessen the pain at all, and worried it might drive a wedge between them.

 

\---

 

Time, as it turned out, only made things worse.

 

The others grew older around them, while Thor and Steve remained young and unchanged. They never told anyone about the apples, and Steve’s youth was simply written off as a side-effect of the serum, something that the team readily accepted.

 

Clint was the first to go.

 

He was killed by a sniper during a mission in Kiev. Natasha had been there with him, had been watching him when the bullet entered his skull and blew out the back of his head. She’d covered him, dragged him aside, and held him until the extraction team arrived, while his body cooled on the cobblestones.

 

Stark was second. He was sixty-six, retired from S.H.I.E.L.D. for ten years, but still working for Stark Industries developing products, primarily concerned with green energy and arc reactor technology. One evening he had a heart attack in his lab, and despite how quickly J.A.R.V.I.S. had summoned them, the paramedics couldn’t bring him back. He had a bad heart, and coupled with the stress he’d subjected himself to over the years and shrapnel, it had done him in.

 

Fury passed after Stark. He was killed in action on a mission when his helicopter had been shot down. No other director could live up to him, Thor decided, as he watched Fury’s elegant silver coffin lowered into the ground.

 

Bruce had been sixty-eight when he found out that the Other Guy wasn’t tough enough to survive cancer, that the radiation he had survived all those years ago had finally come back to kill him. He struggled with it for a few years, as his friends watched him lose his hair to chemo, watched his already lean frame turn skeletal, watched the fight bleed out from his eyes. He died in his sleep a few months after he refused his third round of chemo, and Thor could not grieve the loss of a man finally at peace.

 

Pepper died a few years after Bruce. She had lost Tony, and she had been dedicated to caring for Bruce in the last years of his life. They had grown close, the three of them, and with Tony and Bruce both gone she lost a lot of her drive. She retired, turning to charities to occupy her time now that they were gone, until she simply failed to wake up one morning. Maria would follow within half a year. She had been retired for twenty years, living peacefully in San Francisco until her heart gave out in her sleep.

 

Jane died from a stroke when she was in her eighties. She had married, settled down, and kept correspondence with Thor regularly. She continued working in her field right up until the end, and had even giving a guest lecture at Stanford two years before the stroke.

 

At her funeral, at seeing the woman he would have lived a life with lowered into the ground, Thor truly realized the frailty of these mortals, of just how small and short their lifespans were. It made him grateful that he had apples to give to Steve, that he had someone still at his side.

 

When Natasha died, killed in a car crash in Moscow, they were well and truly alone.

 

Steve was hit hard by the losses of his friends and those around him. It wasn’t helped by the fact that they lived in the Tower, seeing the floors empty, and living with the losses of their friends every day. As the number of those around them dwindled, he clung closer to Thor. The idea of a family--never entirely put aside--began to occupy more of his thoughts. He wanted, _needed_ that connection to something more permanent, to something that would outlast him.  And when Thor continued to refuse him, their relationship suffered. Steve became withdrawn, at first just sleeping late and complaining of tiredness. He was quieter, less interested in things, and he seemed restless when he was awake, staring at Thor but never really focused. For years it slowly grew worse, until they existed as virtual strangers living together. They didn’t talk of anything meaningful, didn’t go and do things like they once had..

 

Thor didn’t know what to do. He knew what Steve wanted, but he couldn’t give him that, not after what he had seen Loki go through, not after how he had lost his brother. He tried to reach out to Steve, to find some way to renew what they’d once had, to reforge the ties between them, feeling increasingly desperate as nothing worked.

 

And then, one night, as Thor came home with take-out Chinese, Steve broke. He’d come home, unaware, and found Steve hunched over on the living room couch, nearly shaking. The coffee table was in front of him, complete with the little decorative fruit bowl they kept there, one golden apple resting neatly on top.

 

Steve’s apple.

 

“I’m tired, Thor.” Steve looked up at him, tears brimming in his eyes. Thor shook his head. He would do anything-- _anything_ \--to keep him from feeling this pain. “Tony’s dead and Clint and Tasha and...and Bruce, Fury, Maria. They’re all gone. Peggy’s been dead for so _long,_ Thor, and everyone I knew back in the war, Dugan and Bucky and...and I’m so tired, Thor. I’m just so tired.” He sniffled. “I already did this once. I woke up and everyone I cared about was dead or dying. And now I’ve done it again. Don’t make me do it a third time.”

 

They locked gazes, Steve on the verge of panting, his eyes red-rimmed, nostrils flared. Thor didn’t know how to react. He dropped his gaze, but he could still feel Steve’s eyes on him, waiting for his answer, and it _hurt_. He had already lost almost everything as well--Loki, his family, his realm, and then Jane, and all of the other members of their team. And now he would lose Steve.

 

Anger rose in him, hot and angry, twisting his stomach and burning his throat. Furiously he snatched the apple from the bowl, trying not to see how Steve had flinched at him. He never wanted Steve to be afraid of him, to regret him, and now in trying to keep Steve, he had. He was so angry now, not with Steve, but with all of this, with Death and Life and Time, forces he couldn’t fight or forestall and that took everything from him.

 

He turned his back to Steve, heading toward the door. As he neared it, he saw his reflection in the damn mirror they’d hung on the wall, and the hate and fury boiled over in him. He whipped the apple at the mirror, watching it shatter, the shards falling to the floor beneath it. Steve flinched again.

 

Gritting his teeth, Thor stormed from the room, his nails digging into his palms. He went to the roof, went and laid down on the stones that lined it, and stayed there, until the sun slipped below the horizon and the stars came out, although the light pollution from the city prevented one from truly seeing them. He stayed despite the discomfort of the hard ground, despite the cold that had set in, that chilled his skin, and the wind that rustled his hair.

 

He was still awake when Steve came up to the roof, wrapped in a blanket and standing in the bright streak of light from the stairwell. There were no words, just Steve tiptoeing over the stones to lay his blanket on Thor and then help him up and bring him inside.

 

\---

 

That was the true beginning of the end for them, and less than a year later, Steve left him.

 

They knew it then, in their living room during the fight and later that night on the roof. If they had been anyone else, they probably would have separated right then. But they’d been together so long, maybe too long, were all each other had, that they pulled apart slowly. It took them both time to come to terms with it, but it happened. Oddly, things improved between them. Without the pressure to keep the relationship going, without the struggle to try not to hurt the other, they were able to just be themselves, to be just the friends they had once been so long ago.

 

The final end came when Thor came home one day to find Steve staring out the window. He turned to look at him, and Thor was stuck by how good Steve looked, how healthy and whole he appeared, in a way he hadn’t for far too long. Thor was glad to see it, but hated that this was the way it had to happen.

 

“I think I should probably move out,” Steve said softly. “It wouldn’t be fair to you to stick and make you....” He drifted off, but Thor know what he was saying.

 

_Make you watch me die._

 

Thor nodded. He’d known this was coming, but it hurt more than he expected. “I’m sorry,” he said, but Steve shook his head.

 

“You haven’t done anything to be sorry for. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too.”

 

He turned away from the window, walking toward Thor. He paused, his bright blue eyes searching Thor’s face, and then he leaned in, pressing one last kiss to Thor’s lips. Then he calmly walked away, grabbing his jacket off the hook. The door closed behind him with a quiet click, leaving Thor alone in their--his--apartment.

 

\---

 

Thor was listless thereafter.

 

He moved back to H.Q., and was given officer’s quarters there.A month after he had last seen Steve, he went back to the Tower to retrieve the last of his belongings, he found that Steve had already cleared the rest of his things out. He wandered through the apartment for a while, and then to the other floors, uninhabited for years, though still looking as their owners had last left them. For a minute, he couldn’t breathe, overwhelmed by grief as his footsteps echoed through homes that would remain forever empty, forever absent of those he had loved. He was very glad in that moment that he hadn’t chosen to stay.

 

It wasn’t the same, being back at S.H.I.E.L.D. now. _Everyone_ was gone, and Thor didn’t want to replace their images, their memories, in his head. They had a new director--there had been three since Fury; this was the fourth--new agents, a new team. And while Thor did his best to be friendly and courteous to these new members, they would never live up to the ones he had originally known, and he kept them at arm’s length.

 

He tried to busy himself with other things. He read libraries of books, taught himself to sketch as Steve had done, and made attempts to learn several musical instruments. Days turned into the monotony he thought he’d left behind.

 

Occasionally, when the urge grew too great, he would check up on Steve, search for him in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s databases or the news, just to see that he was all right. He never tried to contact him. It wouldn’t be right to do so.

 

He learned that Steve had married a few years after they parted. He and his wife had children, three of them, two girls and a boy. And from the pictures in articles of him that Thor had found, he looked _happy_ , as he once had. He’d finally gotten the family he’d wanted, the one Thor had been too selfish to give him.

 

And as he and his wife aged, as their children grew and had families of their own, Thor remained as he was. He didn’t age as the years piled up on Steve, as his hair turned first gray, then white, as his skin lost its golden hue and turned waxy and thin instead.

 

When Steve fell ill with severe pneumonia one winter, Thor visited him. Steve’s children recognized him, yet they still gave him a wary eye before leaving the room when Thor approached Steve’s bedside.

 

Steve was resting when Thor entered. When he looked up at him, recognition flashed on his face, recognition of the man he had spent lifetimes with. Thor only stayed a few minutes, just long enough to hold his hand for a moment and whisper, “Goodbye, Captain.”

 

\---

 

They buried Steve on a sunny October day.

 

It was crisp, with a slight chill in the air, a hint at the cold winter months to come, but with the sun out it was rather pleasant. Steve’s grave was small, his headstone spartan, engraved with only his name and the dates of his birth and death. There had been talk of a monument, but Thor wouldn’t let them put it on Steve’s grave. They could have their monument elsewhere, but Steve wouldn’t want it over his bones.

 

As he stared at the new faces around him--faces so new and young and vibrant--Thor realized that he truly was the last one of them left. There was no one on Midgard, not a single soul, who’d been with him, who’d shared his experiences. There was no one left who remembered who he was, who the Avengers really were, the men and women behind the masks, cowls, suits and uniforms.

 

There was still a position for him here. Maria and Fury had been replaced, his teammates had been replaced, but there was always a spot for him, a job to be done. Yet they would let him go if he asked.

 

The next morning, he resigned. And three days later, Hogun and Volstagg arrived, sent by Heimdall, to help Thor with his things.

 

\---

 

Thor moved on to Vanaheim.

 

Nornheim, Muspelheim, and Niflheim were all inhospitable, save for Karnilla’s tiny keep on Nornheim, and Thor wanted nothing to do with those realms anyway. He doubted the demons and jotnar that lived there would have appreciated his presence. Asgard would never have him back; he would be run out of the city or killed if he returned. Svartalfheim was too turbulent, too volatile for him to go to, especially given his prior status, and Alfheim was a rather xenophobic community. Thor, as both an outsider and a disgraced one at that, would have certainly been unwelcome.

 

And Midgard...he had seen enough of Midgard.

 

He bartered off things he no longer needed to give him coin enough to find a small residence. It was cramped and tiny, and the lack of space made Thor feel incredibly lonely, much like that first small apartment he’d had on Midgard. He took up with a mercenary company, the only people who would still employ him. After all he had done and seen, the work was dull, pedantic, nothing more than a means to survival with none of the excitement and thrill it would have once had. Outside of it, there was nothing to do, nothing to motivate him, and he suddenly understood Steve’s depression The thought of staying in bed and never rising became all too appealing.

 

His friends kept in contact, as they always had, seeking him out every year or two to bring him the apples. Thor refused to let them help him, or to publically acknowledge him; he didn’t want to tarnish their reputations by association. So they would visit under cover of darkness, bringing what little news of Baldr and Asgard that he wanted to hear. But it was only ever Volstagg or Hogun, and occasionally Fandral, who came. Sif no longer came, hadn’t in so long, and Thor wondered if she had cut her losses and moved on, had found a man actually worthy of her, just as courageous and bright as she was and chosen him.

 

The thought twisted the knife of solitude in Thor’s side. Yet he never asked after Sif. If she were happy, let her be happy, let her be free of him and his problems forever.

 

\---

 

In Vanaheim Thor began to write Loki again.

 

Parchment and ink were cheap, and although Thor missed the comfort and convenience of pens and pencils, there was a certain nostalgia to writing like he once had, reverting back to the runes and language of his childhood. His penmanship was even worse, and it was a slower process, but the languid writing gave him time to think and truly choose his words.

 

He kept the letters in a wooden chest, stored beneath his bed. Each day he slipped in another one, folded neatly into thirds, and when the chest was full, Thor took it out to the woods, made a bed of stones, and burned them, scattering the ashes when he was done.

 

\---

 

Jarnsaxa was a beautiful woman.

 

Thor met her in Alfheim, while his company was passing through on a job. She was serving at the inn they’d taken rooms at, and she caught his eye in a way none had since he and Steve had parted. Tal and slender, with red-gold hair and green eyes, and fair skin sprinkled with freckles, she had enchanted him--along with most of the other men--but in the end it was Thor she took back to her room.

 

For a week they enjoyed each other’s company, making love and lounging about when they didn’t have to work. It was casual, with no expectations of permanence--Jarnsaxa had known that Thor would have to move on sooner rather than later. It was a respite from the monotony of his life, reawakening wants and desires beyond just the physical. When his company left after that week, heading out to more remote parts of the realm, he was truly reluctant to go. Though he wanted to go back sooner, he wasn’t able to return for almost half a year.

 

When he did, Jarnsaxa’s stomach was round with child. He knew, when she looked at him with unsure eyes, that it was his. They talked in private about what to do, of how to raise the child and whether they should marry. Of course Thor was fearful. He never wanted children, and yet, now, one was being thrust upon him. He wasn’t ready for this. He hadn’t been ready with Steve, and he still wasn’t. But Thor would not shirk this responsibility, would not allow the child to grow up without a father, would not fail in the way his own parents had. Eventually, they decided that Jarnsaxa would come with him to Vanaheim, that Thor would provide for her and they would raise their child together.

 

When Jarnsaxa died giving birth to their son, Thor despaired, for not only had he lost the women he had come to care about, he had lost the only companion he had to support him in this, that he was counting on to correct him when he made mistakes.

 

Thor named his son Magni, named him after the one piece of Loki he still had left, held him close while he wept over his mother, and tried to comfort the small, squalling bundle he was now responsible for, feeling absolutely inadequate. No matter of what he tried, it seemed like everything he did fell short. Magni would cry and fuss, rejecting Thor’s efforts to comfort and soothe him. When he finally fell asleep, having cried himself to sleep, it was all Thor could do not to simply collapse and weep at how badly he was failing. But he couldn’t allow himself that weakness. He was all Magni had.

 

Thor buried Jarnsaxa, setting his name down as her husband, though they’d never made it official, and Magni as her son. With no one else to look after the boy, he took time off from his company to raise Magni, grateful his reclusive ways had allowed him to save enough to do so, and hired a wet nurse to feed him. Each day was a battle, long, sleepless nights paired with strenuous days, full of finding ways to occupy Magni and struggling to understand what was wrong when he would cry. Thor was always tired, on edge, and nearly at the end of his rope, yet Thor loved him above all else. Magni was a wonder, and Thor loved him like he’d never loved anyone else. He regretted, bitterly, not having risked this when Steve asked him to, but the regret was tempered with the knowledge that without those choices, he wouldn’t have Magni now.

 

When his son was old enough to walk and could eat soft foods besides milk, Thor hired another nurse to look after him, and took up with his company again from time to time. He felt guilty each time he left, feeling like he was abandoning Magni, but he could not live solely off of his savings, not if he wanted to keep them clothed, fed and housed.

 

Through all of it, Thor wrote Loki, though with less regularity. He told him stories of Magni, of how his son was growing up strong, but had a natural curiosity that he was determined to foster.He told his brother of all the books he would read to Magni, of the tales of old he would recite to his son, of how Magni’s face would light up during the stories. Magni would never be made to feel ashamed of wanting to learn, he assured Loki. And if his son wanted to be scholar, if he spurned a life of weapons and fighting, then Thor would see it happen.

 

He also told Loki of missing Jarnsaxa, Steve, Jane, and Loki himself, of how he missed his friends and the good parts of Asgard. How he missed having loved ones around, now that he’d begun his own family. And again, when his box grew full, he would leave Magni with his nurse for an afternoon, go out ot the woods, and burn them

 

\---

 

He had burned nine boxes when he met Sif again.

 

It was a day that hadn’t seemed particularly auspicious when Thor had awoken, simply a day like any other. He had checked on Magni, finding his five-year-old son curled in his bed. Thor had gone down to the market to pay for and retrieve a set of leather bracers he’d had commissioned. He had checked the fit--they were a bit tight, but they would break in soon enough--and Thor rather liked the roaring lion that had been burned into each. He was still admiring the handiwork, tracing over umber lines in the leather, when from the corner of his eye he thought he saw Sif pass by.

 

He stopped and turned, scanning the crowd and the stalls for her, peering over heads and pushing past people. It _couldn’t_ be Sif. There was no reason for her to go to Vanaheim--she was welcome in Asgard, not in exile like he was. And Hogun or Volstagg would have been certain to tell him something of that magnitude.

 

For a moment, it seemed as though his chance had been lost, the crowd milling around him, too many people moving too fast to be able to pick out a single person. He stopped, frustrated that such an opportunity had been dangled in front of him and then snatched away by chance. But then the crowd parted and he spotted her as she turned away, her eye caught by something at a vendor’s stall. Thor pushed through the crowd, pushing men and women aside to get to her.

 

He stopped a few feet short, trying to exactly determine if it was Sif or not, to avoid making an even greater fool of himself if he was wrong. But then she turned again, this time in his direction, and he saw her in full. They locked eyes, and suddenly all of Thor’s frenzy was gone, and they stood, staring at one another, neither moving. It took Thor a moment to notice the child she held balanced on her hip, one who currently was playing with a handful of his mother’s hair.

 

And then, after what felt like an eternity, Thor took a few steps forward.

 

\---

Sif’s child was named Ullr.

 

Thor spent the afternoon walking with Sif and young Ullr, quietly chatting and catching up. The boy was already weaned, in the early stages of talking, and he loved to shout, “No!” whenever he was asked any sort of question. Thor remembered such days fondly with Magni, of watching his son decline everything with childish delight. Ullr had his mother’s dark hair, but his eyes were lighter, green with a hint of brown in them, probably inherited from his father.

 

Sif had come to Vanaheim only recently. She had been in Alfheim before, helping train mercenaries like Thor, until she had decided to take Ullr and move to Vanaheim to start her own small school. She looked well, overall, seemingly in a far better state than Thor was, although when she mentioned Ullr’s father once, fleetingly, there had been sadness in her face. Thor didn’t press it.

 

They had spent that whole afternoon together, walking and chatting. Sif’s face had turned grim when Thor told her of Steve, although he skirted some of the details of their relationship. He knew she had known of it. That was why she had stopped coming.

 

Ullr had reached for Thor once, and Sif had handed him over without a moment’s hesitation. Thor had wanted to protest--he still wasn’t comfortable with children, especially ones not his own--but as he took the boy from her, holding him to his side just as Sif had done, Ullr smiling the whole time, Thor’s reservations had melted.

 

\---

 

Thor enjoyed having Sif around.

 

He began to visit her frequently at her school in his off hours, watching her teach and entertaining Ullr. More often than not, he would bring Magni, and although the two were separated by a handful of years, he and Ullr got along well. Thor would buy toys for the two of them, wooden figurines carved in the shapes of animals or men, dolls sewn from soft felt and suede, or simple puzzles, rings that stacked onto a post, or pegs and a pegboard with holes. He enjoyed watching them play, grow, and learn, and whenever Ullr cried, Thor couldn’t fight the instinct to comfort him, to hold him and ease his pain the way he’d learned to do for Magni.

 

Sif, on the other hand, was just as fierce and knowledgeable as ever. Thor was certain that if he picked a weapon at random she would know what to do with it, and her prowess probably surpassed his at this point.

 

They never spoke of Ullr’s father, just as Sif never asked about Magni’s mother.

 

Thor caught sadness in Sif’s eyes sometimes, when she watched the Thor and Ullr together, and he wondered if she were thinking about the life she might have had, if she were imagining Ullr’s father in place of Thor. Sometimes he wondered about it, too, about what would have happened if he had simply told Steve _Yes_ one of those many times, or if Jarnsaxa had lived.

 

But fate had not woven their threads in such a manner.

 

\---

 

For the first time, Thor felt he had a true family.

 

He and Sif had tentatively begun a relationship. They were each testing the waters, figuring things out. It wasn’t hard. They fit together easily, their friendship as strong as it had ever been with, despite the years that had passed. It was easy to love Sif, to see her and her son as part of his family, and they had gotten married shortly thereafter. Magni and Ullr already thought of each other as brothers, having been raised together from such a young age, and they thought nothing of it when their parents married, though they were still too young to truly understand the situation.

 

They bought a new house, bigger and closer to Sif’s school, and Thor began spending less and less time with his company and more at her school. Thor taught some of the classes, ones that didn’t meet every day. He liked being with the children, with Sif, with people who felt familiar and comforting. Often, he would take the children for the day while Sif went to teach, taking them to the market, the library, the bestiary, the gardens of the palace--wherever they desired to go. And while he spoiled them, he never hesitated to use discipline when it was warranted. He treated them equally, for they were both his sons, regardless of parentage. They were both fine boys, and Thor was proud of both of them.

 

When Sif became pregnant, Thor was briefly afraid, but then he looked at their two children, and realized he had nothing to fear. They were fine--healthy, smart, happy boys, and Thor would fight to his last breath to ensure their safety. The worries that had always plagued him, about being like his father, had no merit, and were easy to dismiss. It would be fine because it _was_ fine, Thor told himself, but there was still a lingering fear that he would lose Sif the way he had Jarnsaxa.

 

Late at night, he would lay beside her and place his hand over her stomach to feel their child kick, all while silently wishing the best for their unborn baby and his wife. Sif would frequently put her hand over his, kiss his forehead at the temple, and run her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.

 

All of Thor’s wishes weren’t for naught, however, for Sif gave birth to Modi, a squalling, healthy boy. Thor stayed with her the entire time, and when it was all over, when Modi had been cleaned up and swaddled and placed in his arms, Sif sleeping peacefully in her bed, Thor wept silently for how lucky he had been.

 

\---

 

For a time, things were good.

 

Modi grew quickly, through the same stages that Magni and Ullr had. His two older siblings had at first been jealous of the new baby, but they quickly came to love him. Magni helped the most with the care of young Modi, for Ullr was still a bit too young to do some things, but he tried. Both boys had good hearts in them, and Thor was certain that Modi would, too, after seeing the fine examples of his brothers.

 

Sif took time off to raise Modi and get herself back into shape before she returned to the school. For a time, Thor took over teaching lessons, although he found it was sometimes hard to have the patience that Sif did. The students liked him well enough, but Thor was still grateful when Sif felt ready to return to her job.

 

It was peaceful for years, until news of Odin Allfather’s death at the jaws of Fenrir reached Vanaheim. Magni had just begun training with weapons, although they were blunted, wooden practice ones; Ullr idolized his big brother and had begged for a set of his own; Modi was a bit further behind them and had just begun learning to read. None of them understood why the news upset their father so much, why he suddenly became angry, lashing out at his family before immediately apologizing and then secluding himself away for hours, and while Sif comforted them, left it up to Thor to decide to tell them or not.

 

Baldr came to their house three days after the rumors of how Odin had died began in the marketplace. He had been flanked by a whole contingent of guards and bannermen sent to escort him, and they crowded the front lawn of Thor’s house with all their splendor. Thor had wanted to turn his brother away, to tell him that he didn’t want anything to do with Asgard or the family anymore, and that the people of that realm certainly wouldn’t want him back.

 

Without the armor, the clear signs of who he was and his station, Thor wouldn’t have recognized his little brother. When he’d left, Baldr had been young, a child in every sense of the word. But he was that child no longer. He was a man, grown in adulthood during Thor’s exile. He stood tall and proud on Thor’s doorstep, the perfect example of an Aesir warrior with shining armor, brilliant white hair and strong jaw. Thor let him into his home. The guards remained outside.

 

They were a world apart, the two of them, two of the three Odinsons gathered under one roof for the first time since Thor left. There was no embrace between them, no tearful reunion--Baldr was here more as a man of state than family. Thor accepted this, even though it hurt--Baldr had never wronged him the way Frigga and Odin had.

 

“Our father is dead, Thor,” Baldr said, strained. For all his splendor, he seemed tired and worn out, at odd with his fancy armor that gleamed in the sunlight pouring through the windows. The responsibilites he’d had to assume with Odin’s death must have been great.“The wolf has been freed, and we’ve not seen Sleipnir. We fear for the serpent.”

 

“You think this is Loki’s doing, then?” Thor tried to keep his voice steady.

 

“Who else would do such a thing?” Baldr scoffed. “No doubt he is on his way to Hel this very instant to rally his army from his daughter.”

 

Thor’s mouth fell slightly agape, and he looked at the floor. He wanted to tell Baldr that he was wrong, that Loki wasn’t behind this, that he’d not begun Ragnarok, but...Loki had every right to extract vengeance on his father, on Asgard--Thor knew that better than anyone. But the serpent...if the Midgard Serpent rose, it meant that Loki still harbored anger to Thor, even after all these years apart. _But shouldn’t he?_ Thor told himself. _After all you did to him, in childhood and after...shouldn’t he?_ Thor’s heart sank, caught up in all of the memories when he had disappointed his sibling, his vision starting to swim.

 

Baldr pulled him from his thoughts. “You must return to Asgard, Thor. To prepare. Then Heimdall will send you to Midgard.” _To die_ , he didn’t say, but then everyone there already knew that.

 

Thor turned his palm over, eyeing the faint white line of the scar he had given himself centuries ago when he tried to become Loki’s brother in blood. Swallowing thickly, he looked up at Baldr in disbelief “But my children. My family. You cannot expect me to give all of that up--”

 

“If the Ragnarok is upon us, Thor, what else can you do?”

 

Thor buried his face in his hands. He sighed deeply, fighting off tears. Now he would lose Sif, lose Magni and Ullr and Modi, all to atone for crimes he had committed so long ago. But there was no other choice. It seemed Fate wasn’t so kind after all.

 

“I want to take my family to Asgard with me,” Thor said. “You can return them after I leave.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Give me a moment, then,” Thor said, gesturing toward the door. Baldr dipped his head and showed himself out, his armor clanking as he drew the door shut. Thor stood in his foyer for a long moment, trying to think of what he would say to Sif and his children. He drew in a long breath when he heard quiet footsteps behind him, and as he turned he saw Sif, holding Modi, Magni and Ullr standing behind her.

 

“Did you hear all of that?”

 

“We did,” she said, handing Modi to Thor. His son buried his face into his father’s shirt clutching a fistful of the beige cotton.

 

“I have to go,” Thor said weakly.

 

“I know,” Sif said, rising onto her toes to kiss him. “We’ll go with you to Asgard, to see you off.” As she pulled away, Thor saw the tears in her eyes. He pulled her close, Modi between them, and felt the warm press of his family around him as Ullr and Magni clung to them as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes on my canon/universe-
> 
> This isn't strictly movie canon, and it shares a lot more with mythological canon than it does with the comics. Things such as Sleipnir and Loki's other children will be dealt with, but I'll do so later in the story. I've retold some stories from the Prose Edda within this, albeit with different character motivations than in the original myth. Some liberties have been taken with Baldr and the events of Ragnarok, but I'll post a note saying what I've changed when those stories come up.


End file.
